


Cabin Fever

by mindy_makru_tutu



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-14
Updated: 2006-03-14
Packaged: 2019-08-25 20:05:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16667425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindy_makru_tutu/pseuds/mindy_makru_tutu
Summary: Gibbs takes Kate away to his sanctuary. Sequel to "Our Time" (which can be found at ff.net)





	Cabin Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Written years ago, I have imported this story here as the archive where it's been is closing so it is now preserved for any KIBBS fans still out there.

[Read 'Our Time" first](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2788525/1/Our-Time)

 

**Part 1**

I recall once saying to Gibbs that a little cabin in the woods was not my idea of a vacation. I'm not sure what I thought was. I haven't actually had a vacation since, well, since Spring Break -- and I certainly have no desire to revisit that period of my life. After that last juvenile adventure, the upward spiral of my career engulfed all my time and energy and, apart from a day or two over Christmas or Thanksgiving, or a week now and then to catch up on laundry and taxes, I haven't ever had a true vacation.

As I step out of the car and gaze up at the facade of Gibbs' modest getaway spot, I realize that this might be just what I need, exactly the vacation I didn't know I wanted. The cabin is somewhat like its owner, I note fondly. Quiet, concealed, sturdy and rather charming, in its own rough-around-the-edges kind of a way. As I follow Gibbs up the narrow path, I notice that the front yard is very over-grown and look forward to putting it in some order. We mount the few steps and I see a two-seater swing lying in one corner of the narrow porch, its ropes frayed and mildewed.

"I'll fix that," says Gibbs, looking at me from under his brows as he pulls out the keys. The fact that he even locks this place tells me that it is of far more value to him than anything he owns back in DC, which is never kept under lock and key. "After you," he motions with one arm, giving me a tentative half-smile.

I return the smile, lifting my bag higher over my shoulder and stepping inside. It's dank and dark within, smelling of old wood and cinders, but it's clean and cosy. The small living room is decorated sparsely with a large tribal rug of faded greens and reds and an old brown couch that faces the little stone fireplace. There is a modest window seat facing the front of the house and a bookshelf against the adjacent wall.

Gibbs begins unloading our supplies, allowing me a moment to get acquainted with my surroundings. I meander about carefully, my eye drawn instantly to a black and white photo tucked into the second ledge of the bookshelf and showing a very young L.J., wearing a striped shirt and a bib with his initials. In his fat little fingers he grasps greedily a small toy boat, while his serious little baby face exhibits a familiar scowl. I smile quietly. Beside the photo is the same blue boat he holds, now much worse for wear.

I continue to wander, peering into the front bedroom that holds a desk and a single bed and a watercolor of another boat. Next door, there is a tiny bathroom, with a deep, claw-footed tub and fresh soap and towels already laid out. I step into the larger bedroom, and take a look around, dropping my bag onto the large wooden bed. Its frame is bulky and rustic, thrown with a dark blue spread and fat pillows, dwarfing the rest of the room. There is a small robe on one side of the room and low dresser in the corner near the large window which looks, through lazy limbs of falling vines, out over the woods. I open up the heavy windows that show off the surrounding landscape in all its quiet glory and take a deep breath.

I hear Gibbs in the kitchen and make my way to the back of the house. He's putting away our groceries, with all the efficiency of the navy man that he still is. He's opened up the back door and I step out onto the porch to take a look at the lake. A slight breeze is stirring the late afternoon haze, as a few ducks glide about the velvety surface of the water. The sun has turned a brilliant orange and is lowering itself languidly towards the hills.

I lean against the railing and hear the screen door slap behind me. Gibbs sidles up close, standing with his front grazing my back, and puts an arm over my shoulder. He hands me a beer, I take it and the arm remains dangling about me lazily. He takes a sip of his own beer over my shoulder and I wait for him to say something. I have become attuned to sensing Gibbs think something before he says it. He'll mull it over a few times, censor his thoughts, repress his words, while I wait patiently until it spills out in some form or another. It usually, but not always, does.

It's an odd habit, but one that I am familiar with having worked with the man for over two years. He's more inclined to censor his private thoughts than his professional ones though. I tend to do the opposite. I hardly ever stop talking – especially when I'm happy, which I am with Gibbs. But sometimes my mouth can get me into trouble.

He takes another sip and finally starts to say: "It's not exactly--"

I turn putting two fingers over his lips, this time stopping the thought before it takes flight. He immediately silences, his blue eyes sparkling gently at me. I leave my fingers where they are and slide up onto the railing, so we're of more equal height. Then I pull him closer and replace my fingers with my lips.

"Thank you for bringing me here," I murmur and kiss him again, soft and slow, so he grasps my full meaning. I don't want to hear him apologize for anything he thinks I might lack up here. I love it already.

He kisses me gently but thoroughly, his free hand tracing strange patterns on my back, before gliding down my spine and settling on the small of my back. Two fingers slip under the belt of my jeans and stroke the skin there. He hums and pulls away looking at me with a mildly bemused expression.

"It's beautiful here," I say quietly, looking about us at the cosy little cabin and its surrounds.

"Hmmm," Gibbs nods slowly in agreement, takes a sip of beer and glances round. His mouth turns up in a secret smile.

"What?" I ask him curiously and this time he doesn't hesitate before he speaks. "I had my first kiss on this porch, you know," he mutters wryly.

"Really?" I reply, putting my head to one side: "I'm surprised you can remember back that far, Gibbs."

He looks at me with raised eyebrows and assures me: "Oh, I remember."

"How old were you?" I ask, sipping my beer and letting one hand travel slowly over his chest, fingers touching the silver hair appearing at the opening of his shirt.

His eyes focus on the step where no doubt the monumental event took place. "Twelve. She was fourteen …" He chuckles lightly: "My first big crush."

I narrow my eyes at his expression: "Lemme guess -- a redhead?"

"Oh yeah," he muses, lost in the memory: "Jessica Tracey… I used to carve her name in tree-trunks."

I stifle a smile, pursing my lips in playful irritation. "Are you *trying* to make me jealous?" I demand scratchily.

He looks back at me and straightens slightly, obviously much intrigued by the idea: "Is it working?" he asks interestedly.

I scoff and roll my eyes, looking away. "So….you bring lots of girls here to make out, huh?" I tease mutinously.

"Nope," he shakes his head. He takes a big sip of his beer and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows and places the bottle on the railing: "Since then…." His large hands land lightly on my hips and his head drops, looking at where they hold me through my jeans: "There's been…" his voice trails off, then he looks up and squeezes my hips: "You."

I gulp and stare into his eyes, taken aback by his sudden change of tone. This man has such a talent for throwing me completely off-balance with his quiet, honest devotion, always at the most unexpected moments. I'm shocked that I'm the first woman Gibbs has brought here and by all that that implies. And I'm flattered. But part of me can't believe it's possible; he's had three wives, after all.

"You never came here with--?" I question tentatively

"Nope," he shakes his head.

Surely a girlfriend, a fling, someone, at sometime, I think to myself. "Not even--?" I start, dubiously.

He shakes his head again: "No."

I feel a strong trembling in my gut and realize for perhaps the first time, how special this is, that he's sharing this with me. This enigmatic, jaded, guarded, wonderful man who I love so much and who is finally letting me in. Letting me love him.

I pull him closer and draw his face close to mine, kissing him with all the enthusiasm and commitment I possess for our union. I wrap my arms around his neck and feel his arms slide about my body, as he responds without restraint. His kiss is more insistent now, more passionate and within minutes we're pulling at each others clothes. I press a random sequence of desperate kisses over his neck and down to his chest, where I'm unbuttoning his shirt as fast as I can. His hands are already inside my shirt, unhooking my bra.

"So…" I pant expectantly: "you've never made love here then?" I ask him, hoping to banish all memories of both Jessica Tracey and every lonely vacation he's ever spent here.

"What, here on this porch?" he asks vaguely.

"Mm hmm," I nod, wrapping both my legs around his lower body so my intent is blatantly clear. There can't possibly be anyone watching us way out here and I'm not sure I would care if they were.

Gibbs pulls back and looks at me funny: "You giving me ideas, Agent Todd?" he asks disapprovingly.

"Trying to, Agent Gibbs," I mumble impatiently, nipping at his lips: "Can I help it if you're getting slow in your old age?"

It's the second time I've played the age card, knowing fully that it pushes his buttons. Gibbs smirks dangerously, grasping the two halves of my shirt and ripping them apart, the buttons flying in every direction. I gasp out of shock, my mood for the moment abruptly stalled.

"Gibbs! That was a new shirt!" I look down at myself: "I can't believe you just did that."

Gibbs is completely unrepentant: "I'll get you another one," he mutters, kissing me urgently and cupping my breasts eagerly.

He slips the ruined shirt off and then the unhooked bra. The feeling of my skin against his, through his open shirt lessens my outrage somewhat. But I'm still distressed by the loss, looking around at the scattered buttons:

"Are you going to pick up all those buttons and sew them on?" I demand weakly.

"I have a far more important problem right now, Kate," he tells me thickly, his hands now tracing the same strange patterns on my naked skin.

His gravelly tone draws my eyes up to his. They are alight with deep blue fire and a need I recognize. I feel the familiar tightening and releasing of my whole body as it prepares to be loved by him again. It knows the signs better than my brain.

"What?" I ask him, instantly deciding that clothing is a much over-rated necessity. He looks pointedly down at where my legs are wrapped around him, gripping him with tenacity of a boa constrictor. I look down too, seeing no space to move between his bulging arousal and the open ‘v' of my legs. He feels too good to let go.

"How the hell do you expect me to get your pants off?" he demands heatedly.

"That's your problem?" I ask breathily, looking into his eyes.

"Uh huh," he nods, standing helplessly in my trap.

All things come at a price, I think, loosening my hold and whispering against his lips: "I think I can help you out with that."

He releases me, all of a sudden, and takes two steps back, putting his hands out to the side in invitation. He waits and watches. I'm overly aware of my nakedness without him covering me, and self-conscious under his expectant stare.

"You're just going to stand there and watch?" I ask incredulously.

His eyes hold mine in a fiery gaze as he drops one hand to the button fly of his jeans: "No."

I follow his movements with eager eyes and mirror them with hurried hands. Both our jeans hit the floorboards at the same moment that the bright sun hits the hills behind us and begins to melt away. He's instantly against me again, lifting me onto the railing as I push the shirt from his shoulders. The wood abrades the skin of my ass but not enough for me to care because two long, lithe fingers delve between my legs, spreading the accumulated moisture and relieving the hot tingle of my desire.

Gibbs watches my face for my reactions, as he always does. The investigator in him wants to know everything about how my body works. The man needs to witness my pleasure. It's almost embarrassing how powerfully I respond to him – or it would be if not for the look on his face when I do. If not for the fact that he responds just as powerfully to my touch.

I wrap myself around him as before, arms and legs holding on tight, and Gibbs takes the hint, rocking into me gently, pressing deep, moving slow, until we're fully, satisfactorily, achingly joined by flesh. He groans deeply and drops his face into my shoulder.

"Kate…" he sighs, his hips pulsing restlessly: "you're amazing…" He runs his hands down my thighs then hugs me closer, my breasts crushed into his chest: "Aahh," he moans, kissing my neck sloppily: "love this so much…"

"Me too…" I whisper, my hands drifting down to his ass to encourage more movement.

This is exactly what I want, I think as Gibbs begins to move slowly inside me. To be made love to slow and sweet as the sun sets. This is exactly what I need. This man. This extraordinary man and his love.

I feel an overwhelming sense of both excitement and contentment at the prospect of the next two weeks, being alone with him in this peaceful, beautiful place. I feel grateful that we've finally found the time to get to know each other in a deeper way. I feel honored that Gibbs has brought me here, to share his special place. It's been a long time in coming, but THIS is my idea of a vacation.

* * *

  
I love this place, it feels good to be back. There's a slight, nervous excitement in my gut being here with Kate. It's the realization of a mammoth fantasy for me and the beginning of something new for us. My libido is ready to recreate every fantasy I've ever had about bringing her up here. My heart is busy weaving a future.

I take my cup of coffee and step out onto the porch, closing the door quietly so as not to wake her. Kate loves her sleep and misses it. On the job, she tends to fall asleep in cars, planes, at her desk and even waiting on hold on the phone once. I need very little rest, waking like clockwork at dawn. Taking a seat on the porch, I survey the misty view with a sigh but my mind is mostly concerned with the woman still asleep in my bed. I got lucky last night, I muse, speaking of fulfilling fantasies.

Yesterday was our first full day up here, and I had so much planned. But as I woke, early as always, I was annoyed to see it was pouring with rain. It didn't stop falling all day, forcing us to spend our time indoors. We wandered about, did the crossword, sat on the porch and watched the rain, read, cooked, talked and made love. After an early dinner, which we ate in front of the fire, I challenged Kate to game of chess. Kate challenged me back, suggesting we make it a game of strip chess. I saw my number one fantasy of making love to this woman on the floor in front of a raging fire suddenly becoming a reality.

I played the game with every ounce of cunning and attention I had, which pissed her off a bit, because she'd lost her watch, necklace, sweater, shirt and socks before I'd even taken off my shoes. Still, we both ended up naked in the end.

Before Kate, I hadn't had sex in a long time and hadn't had sex with someone I cared about in even longer. It's an entirely different experience that I'd forgotten. My last girlfriend, if you could even call her that, was Cynthia, who I met casually through work and slept with just as casually. When my feelings for Kate became too strong to ignore, I broke it off, confident that even after a year, nobody's feelings were hurt. Like my marriages, the relationship was based on appearances. Cynthia was gorgeous and I convinced myself that if I focused enough on her big, red curls and her soft, full breasts and her sparkling green eyes that I could forget about the little brunette in the back of my mind.

I was simply attracted to Kate, I told myself -- nothing more -- and attraction could be easily displaced onto someone else. Someone more safe, someone more appropriate. Someone I knew I didn't love.

I struggled for a long time to understand my fascination with the young, upstart ex-Secret Service novice who was not my type at all. Caitlin Todd was uptight, conservative, argumentative and perfectionist. She reminded me of all those Catholic schoolgirls with their starched shirts and knee-length skirts who my friends and I used to watch from afar as a kid. They were untouchable and we hated them for it.

But Kate Todd was pretty, I couldn't deny that. I remember looking at her lying on that couch aboard Air Force One and noticing it for the first time. All of a sudden, she was no longer just an obstacle, just an annoyance, she was no longer just the competition. She was a woman with big brown eyes and a sweet mouth and compact, curved figure. I made no effort whatsoever to hide my admiration and Kate made no attempt to conceal herself from my eyes. She didn't shirk my gaze, or rush to cover herself up, she didn't blush or look apologetic for her very apparent femininity. I watched as she lifted one hand behind her head, in a gesture that was part pretend nonchalance, part defiant pose. And at that moment, I realized I'd underestimated Caitlin Todd.

But I had no idea what I'd let myself in for when I hired her. Because Kate Todd wasn't just pretty, I discovered in time. She was beautiful.

Caitlin Todd wasn't just conservative and argumentative and perfectionist. She was brave and good and tough and clever and loyal. I wasn't just impressed, I was fascinated. And I wasn't just fascinated, I realized after awhile – I was in love. At the age of fifty, I was in love again, or maybe, in love for the first time.

I'm still getting used to the idea actually. And because of the pace and demand of our work, Kate and I are still figuring out how to be with each other, how to fit this into our already unpredictable lives. But for once in my life, I'm treating it as a priority -- it has to be. Soon we're going to have to deal with the question of if and how we can continue to work on the same team. But not now.

For the time being, we need to just enjoy the simplicity and the satisfaction of being together; and we've come up here to do just that, I suppose. We're still in the honeymoon stage. Everything is new and exciting and our appetite for each other seemingly unquenchable. I've always been told that I was very good at the sexual side of relationships and not much else. Kate is a very sexual woman; she is confident and open in her desires, and takes great pleasure in making love in a variety of ways. With her, I never feel like I should repress my desires, or that my attentions might be unwanted. I never get the feeling that I'm not enough, that I should be doing more. And because I feel freer, everything else that used to be so difficult seems more effortless now.

I'd been married to a woman with whom I was not compatible sexually. Diane was beautiful and I fell in love with her image almost instantly. But she was not a sexual person. She was like a delicate piece of fine china – and I was a great big oaf with dirty, clumsy hands. She didn't much like sex before we got married, something I thought would change but didn't. My intense frustration and fury drove me into the arms of a sharp-faced redhead with too much ambition and a habit of flouting the rules. She also happened to be an agent in my command which damaged both our careers and put an end to both the relationship and my marriage very swiftly. It was only later that I confirmed my suspicion that Diane had had a string of lovers while we were married, but had never fully shared that part of herself with her husband of nine years.

It was after this period of extreme anguish and dissatisfaction and chaos that I first came up here to stay. I had newly inherited the cabin upon my Dad's death, who had in turn inherited it from his uncle. We used to visit up here on holidays when I was a kid and I used to love to take his boat out into the lake. I hid away for three weeks, getting drunk and vowing never to get married again. A vow that I disregarded entirely when three years later, I took Robin as my third wife. I suggested we come up here on our honeymoon but she hated the idea, to put it mildly. She wanted to go to Europe, which we did, while I relived excruciating memories of Jenny in every city.

I'm sure Kate would love to go to Europe too, or visit an island paradise. I'm sure she'd love a swanky hotel room and to be wined and dined. It's not more than she deserves and I'm not saying I'll never give it to her. I look forward to it, in a way.

But she's here right now and that means more than I can ever express to her, more than I think she knows. This is who I really am and I'm pretty confident she's okay with that. She tells me everyday she loves me, even if it's just with her eyes, and bit by bit, I'm starting to believe that this one is for keeps. For once, I don't feel the need to hold on quite so tight; not if she's holding on as well.

* * *

  
I admit I would not have found it if I wasn't snooping. Officially, I was looking for some paper to on which to sketch. Unofficially, I was snooping.

I'm more shocked than I thought I would be to find in the desk in the spare room a picture of me -- but not a flattering one. It's the one Tony found of me during my Spring Break rebellion, half-naked, covered in water and alcohol, posing with a smashed smile for the camera.

I had vainly hoped that Gibbs had not seen this, did not know about this. But I realize that the picture was probably printed from his computer at the office, since he doesn't have one at home. I can't help but wonder why; as my anger at Tony reignites, as well as my never-ending shame over the event that I can't, to this day, recall. I sense Gibbs appearing in the doorway as I stare in dismay at the carefully folded piece of paper.

"Ah," he shifts slightly and says uneasily: "I can explain that."

I turn towards him, my expression half amusement and half accusation. I feel like saying the same thing, except that I can't explain my actions in this photo.

"I can explain that," he nods resolutely as I cock my head to the side expectantly.

I'm very willing to hear what he has to say, but his tenseness is fueling my embarrassment, so I fold the paper and head out of the room.

"I'm burning this," I say, heading for the fireplace, where the embers of last night's fire still smolder.

"Kate," says Gibbs gently, capturing my wrist as I move past him.

I pause in the doorway, a flush in my cheeks. This is not how I want Gibbs to see me. I'm so afraid he'll think less of me.

"Are you mad?" he asks quietly.

"No," I struggle to say, my eyes cast to the floor. "I'm just…embarrassed."

He takes the piece if paper carefully from my fingers, opens it and looks at it. I raise my eyes to his face. His expression shows no disgust or judgment or amusement. No disapproval or disappointment. He does not look at it like it is a pin-up or a joke. Soft eyes trace my younger figure like they seem to have done a hundred times before. I realize that Gibbs printed this out in secret, hid it in shame, and brought it up here at some point. He looked at it on his lonely vacations, sitting at the desk, lying in his bed, on his couch, longing for someone he thought he could never have. This is as close to me as he ever thought he would get. I know how he feels. I keep a particularly favorite photo of him in my bedside drawer. Of course, mine is a crime scene photo I stole from Abby and he's nowhere near naked, but the feeling is mutual.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly and hands it back: "You can burn it if you want to."

Gibbs' rare apologies always take me by surprise, so I weakly take the paper and head for the fire. I haven't taken two steps before I turn again and look at him.

My eyes glow with warmth as I tell him softly: "You don't need this anymore."

He doesn't need the sleepless longing of an outdated photo. He can have the real deal, we both can. Gibbs has me now, for better or worse, and I'm not going anywhere. If he wants to see me or talk to me or touch me, all he has to do is reach out. I'll never deny him or be indifferent like a plain piece of paper. He can have everything I've got.

My eyes communicate this unspoken promise and I watch his mouth turn up at the edges. Blue eyes glitter happily in comprehension and he takes a step forward. He kisses my cheek lightly as he removes the paper from my fingers again and throws it in the fireplace without a second thought.

I smile and let it burn.

Then I go into the bedroom and dig out my camera, I know I brought it up here. It's a gorgeous day, so I start taking photos of the cabin and the mountains and the ducks in the lake. I take one of Gibbs with his coffee and morning paper and he takes one of me in my favorite green sweater. Then we join hands and take a stroll around the lake.

* * *

  
It doesn't take long before we both get restless and begin looking for some work to engage in amid all the rest and sex and fun. I find Kate some gloves and gardening utensils and she starts to work on the garden out front. I mow the knee-high lawn, while she pulls out all the weeds and even resurrects a few plants. Then I set to work painting and mending the swing for the front porch.

We chat a little as we work about what else we can do to make this shack a little more presentable and how we'd like to spend the rest of our time here; although there is one activity we both know is going to be on our daily itinerary. I turn every so often to admire the swell of Kate's ass in her jeans or the attractive pink in her cheeks. And on one such venture, I turn to see her looking right back at me. She smiles and I take an excessive amount of satisfaction from the fact that I have made this woman positively glow with happiness. She's gorgeous.

She plants one foot on the porch, pulling herself up from the ground below with her arms. I meet her on the other side of the railing and hold her up as she wraps her arms around me and kisses me. I can smell her sweat and her shampoo and can feel the heat of the sun on her clothes. She tastes like sunlight and vanilla and everything good in the world as I devour her slowly with lips and tongue.

She hums contentedly and jumps back down to the ground. I watch her take off her gloves and leave them on the steps as she heads inside. I continue painting and some time later, Kate emerges with a plate of freshly baked cookies and homemade lemonade. It occurs to me fleetingly that one day she will make a terrific mother; but I don't voice the thought.

She watches me finish painting the swing with white paint and then we settle on the steps with our snack. I've tasted Kate's cookies before but not fresh from the oven like this. The smell alone has taken over the whole house, making it reek of sweetness and hominess. I gobble down three and then drink the lemonade in one breath. It's the perfect blend of sweet and sour for a hot day.

Kate refills my glass and sips delicately at her own. She suggests we go into town the following day and get some more plants for the garden. Something tough and resistant, she says, so they won't die while we're away. I agree immediately, not missing the implication that Kate wants to come back here; she has taken to this place swiftly and strongly.

 

* * *

  
‘Town' is over half an hours drive away on dirty, twisting roads and I feel like we're coming out of hibernation. We haven't seen another soul in nearly a week. It's a bit of a culture shock. I come armed with a long shopping list so that we don't need to make the trip too often.

To my surprise, Gibbs knows everyone and they all know him. He's greeted by name everywhere we go and invited in for coffee with a warm handshake. He introduces me proudly to everyone and I am welcomed with hugs and kisses and coffee too. I try to memorize all their names and keep up with the conversation. They all seem thrilled that Gibbs has finally brought someone "home". They use my name every time they speak to me or ask me something, as if to emphasize that I am now part of the community by association.

Gibbs keeps me close, sometimes holding my hand or putting an arm around my waist possessively. I see some of the older men look me over, curiously, but I've never been so proud to be at the side of any man as I am to be by Gibbs'.

At the local garden centre, Gibbs introduces me to Ellie, a beautiful woman of sixty of so with a voluptuous figure and bright headscarf. She hugs him excitedly when she sees him and gives him grief for having been away so long. As she leads me about, choosing plants for the garden, she questions me about Gibbs and me, how we met, how long we've been together and how I like the cabin. Apparently, she was the good fairy who Gibbs enlisted to clean the place up before we arrived. She chatters incessantly, barely allowing me a word in edgewise. I have a feeling that, thanks to Ellie, news of us will shortly be general knowledge in the little town; but for some reason, I really don't care.

I laugh with her and accept a packet of her homemade tea with thanks. And as we're leaving, she shouts after us, that she'd better see us again before the honeymoon. We wave from the car, packed with all our supplies for further gardening, cookie-baking, coffee-drinking, love-making and camping and head back out of town. I notice a small cinema as we're heading out and file that info away for later, as Gibbs' hand steals across to rest casually on my knee.

* * *

  
"Kate…" I slip my hand into her panties and tell her to keep her eyes closed.

She lies on her back in the rumpled sheets, gloriously naked and open. Her hair is spread out around her head and her lips are swollen from constant biting. I nip at them gently with my own and run my tongue across them soothingly, making her whimper.

I lie on my side, drinking her in as I massage between her legs just the way I know she likes it. I never tire of finding new ways to touch her and see how she reacts. I circle her opening with one finger and trace her folds, deliberately ignoring her clit. She's wet already, but she doesn't move or open her eyes, or stop my play. I whisper in her ear as I explore her, feeling her grow more and more moist and engorged and hot. I tell her how I love to touch her, how it feels to be inside her, how I used to dream about making love to her, crying out her name when I came. I tell her how amazing she is and how beautiful and sexy, and how I wish we could stay here forever so that I could make love to her everyday for the rest of our lives. She reacts as much to my voice and words as she does to my fingers pressing inside her.

When she's just nearing the precipice, her body arching more and more, her face beginning to bloom with exquisite agony, I gently remove my touch. I stop talking, shifting my hand to her inner thighs, stroking gently, pushing her legs further apart. Kate's body slackens and collapses in disappointment, a low moan escaping from her throat. My hand continues moving soothingly over her thighs and round her belly while I lower my mouth to her chest. I kiss a line down her breastbone, then gently draw one peaked nipple into my mouth. She arches again, sensitive and longing. She gasps my name when I lick my way over to the other breast and give it the same treatment.

When I pull back, she still hasn't opened her eyes. One arm rests limply over her head, the other lies peacefully on my shoulder.

"Kate…" I whisper in her ear again.

"Hmm?" she breathes, squirming slightly.

"Keep your eyes closed," I whisper, kissing her lightly: "And tell me, tell me…"

I ask her, order her to tell me her desire, her favorite fantasy, what she sees in her mind, what turns her on most. What she used to imagine us doing before we were together, what she might want to do in the future.

"Kate…" I whisper and urge her not to censor herself, not to think, just to feel. And to talk.

My hand slips between her legs as she starts to obey. My Lord, does she obey, telling me in the softest, sexiest voice imaginable her inner most desires. I suck on her breasts when her storytelling requires it and mimic her descriptions with my hands as much as I can. Her voice is wavering at times, and uncertain; she may hesitate but she does not stop weaving her dream world around the two of us. I encourage her with my voice, whispering her name repeatedly and prompting her when she needs it, reminding her I'm here and that she's always held in my presence. I am as bewitched by what she is saying as she is. I am rapt by the silky sound of her words and the expression on her face and the absolute trust she's placing in me.

"Kate…" I whisper when she starts to moan and cannot talk anymore.

She opens her eyes and looks at me. The dream world is broken. The dream world is real. She moves, urging me onto my back slowly and then rising over me.

Chocolate hair envelopes both our faces as she leans down to kiss me, lowering herself carefully onto my ravenous erection. I'm so turned on I could explode instantly.  
Kate sits back and looks down at me, throwing her hair over her shoulder. Her eyes are smoky and dark and her breasts droop with arousal. I move my hands up to cup them, my thumbs tweaking over her hardened nipples repetitively, as she begins to lift herself little by little up and down on me.

For a while, I just watch her, my own living, breathing, heaving fantasy. I let her do the work, watching her thighs flex and her breasts bob with her movements, as I run my hands over her heated flesh. I know her body so well by now that I could trace it in my sleep. I slip my fingers over her clit again and watch her mouth drop open in pleasure. Kate begins to move more urgently and I thrust my hips up underneath her, closing my eyes with pleasure. The energy flares fiercely throughout my body and coils hotly in my groin, before I take hold of her hips and buck upwards, coming inside her with a shout.

When I come to, I'm still sheathed within her, feeling the aftershocks of her orgasm milking me, while her spent body rests heavily on top of mine. I kiss her hair and close my eyes.

  
**Part II.**  
  
  
I walk into the bathroom and find Gibbs fiddling with an old electric razor. He doesn't look like he knows what he's doing. He plugs it in and is pointing it at his head when I intervene.

Placing my hand over his and lowering the shaver, I shake my head slowly in silent disapproval. Gibbs' hair has been growing out since we got here and I like the extra length. I'm not letting him shave it again and ruin the effect. He looks at me questioningly and I shake my head again firmly. I confiscate the offending item and place it back in the cabinet, my eyes lighting on a pair of scissors.

Taking his arms, I guide him so that he is sitting on the rim of the bathtub. Gibbs obeys docilely, watching my movements as I sling a towel around his shoulders and take the glass on the sink and fill it with water. I encourage him to tip his head back, cupping his skull and carefully pouring the water over his hair. He hums and closes his eyes as I steadily run my fingers through his hair, spreading the moisture and massaging his scalp. My eyes caress his upturned face as he takes pleasure in my pampering, a smug smile playing about his lips. I massage him for a little longer than is really necessary then turn to the sink, retrieving his comb and the scissors. I assess him for a moment from afar as Gibbs watches me attentively. I used to do this a lot. Our Italian heritage blessed my brothers, sister and I all with thick, dark hair. When we were young, we needed constant trims to keep it in order and, as my Mom refused to pay for multiple haircuts every month or so, the task usually fell to my sister or I to accomplish while our brothers complained and batted at our hands.

Gibbs is far more compliant. He sighs happily as I step between his legs, peering up at me as I comb his hair. I put a hand on his chin, urging his head to stay still and straight and he smirks, gaze focused on my cleavage which happens to be on a perfect level with his face. I set to work, mostly leaving the shorter hair alone but trimming so that the delineation between the top half and the bottom half of his military style cut is not so obvious. I straddle his legs in order to reach the sides, the denim of his pants scratching my bare calves; then I climb around into the tub to access the back and neaten behind his ears, taking pleasure in the texture and color of his thick hair as I work.

Stepping in front again, I shift close and chop at the top a little so it doesn't sit quite so flat. I rise up onto my toes, pulling the hair straight with two fingers and sniping precisely. The movement brings me even closer to him and I feel his warm breath bathe my skin. Unable to restrain himself any longer, Gibbs grunts and moves his hands from his knees to my hips, holding and caressing gently, his eyes roving slowly up over me and down again. I sense his gaze like a touch, only deeper. I feel the warmth of his body and the magnetism that pulses inexorably between us now more than ever.

His large palms skate up over my hips to my waist, smoothing deliberate circles over my ribcage and spine, disrupting my clothes. I struggle to concentrate on my task, my eyes drifting closed with his exploratory, engrossed handling and my chest falling heavily as my breathing speeds up. I draw back a little, burrowing my fingers through his hair, flicking it this way and that, checking for any imperfections or irregularities. Biting my lip, I step into him again and snip a little more, just so we can remain in this delicious position a minute longer. I take my time as Gibbs' hands glide covetously back down to my hips, his thumbs caressing my hip bones and fingers spreading out over my ass through my skirt.

He leans in slowly and places a lingering kiss right at the base of my throat. My toes curl tightly against the floor tiles and one hand slips down over his cheek. He doesn't pull back at once, his nose nuzzling into my skin and his clothes brushing against mine. I hear myself moan softly, leaning into him for a moment before lowering gradually back to my feet. Looking into his eyes, I arrange his hair with both hands then tilt back his face, admiring my handiwork and my man. Gibbs watches me with azure, absorbed eyes.

I give him a gentle kiss. "Perfect," I whisper: "All done."

I take the towel from around his shoulders and shake the silver shards into the bathtub. Then I pop the scissors back and close the cabinet as Gibbs dusts some stray hairs from his shirt.

"Kate," he says as I'm walking away.

I turn in the doorway, my body tingling from the remnants of his touch, and look back at him, still sitting on the tub. He looks me up and down from under dark brows and runs a hand through his hair.

"I'm firing my barber," he remarks wryly.

I throw a smile over my shoulder at him and mumble: "Fine by me."

* * *

  
  
We run fairly regularly, mostly in the mornings, out to a look-out which I knew of from previous trips. There's about three miles of decent track, nice and flat, very pretty and completely to ourselves. We jog at a pace that is comfortable for both of us and achieve a loose rhythm where we're stepping and breathing in unison, Kate's arm brushing mine on the occasional down-step.

At the end, we take some time to stretch and catch our breath and enjoy the view before heading back. Unfortunately I tend to think when I jog and I've been working through something in my mind that's worried me ever since I realized that my feelings for my co-worker were much more than platonic. It's a problem for which I see no possible solution. Kate lies beside me on a large rock, eyes closed, soaking up the sun, and before I know it, my thoughts have materialized into speech:

"Does it bother you that I'm twenty-one years older than you?"

Kate turns to look at me and I turn to look out at the mountains. She sits up, propping her arms on her knees. Maybe it's the fact that she looks about twelve years old in her running shorts and ponytail. Maybe it's the fact that every time I run or workout or fight, I discover that my body is slowly deteriorating and simply not what it once was. Maybe it's the fact that if I marry this woman which I have seriously considered doing, I might make her a very young widow.

When I glance at Kate, she is looking at me seriously, considering my question. There is a vague flicker of surprise in her eyes, and a gentle tilt to her head.

"Not in the least," she says lightly and gets to her feet. She glances at me briefly and dusts of her ass, walking a few feet to the cliff ledge, looking out over the open countryside and taking a deep breath in.

I wonder if she means it, if she's truly considered all the ramifications. I have, at length – I made excuses out of them for two years. They plague me less now, but they still plague me. Nobody could accuse me of looking on the bright side of life. I get up off the rock and join Kate at the ledge, feeling my joints protest as I do. I put my hands on my hips and sigh as the wind brushes up the cliff and over our perspiring bodies.

"Does it bother you?" Kate asks after a long silence.

I turn and look at her. "Only if it bothers you," I hedge guardedly.

She faces me, pointing out: "Which it doesn't."

I nod: "Like you said."

"Like I meant," she adds, cocking her head suspiciously.

I look away again. I turn and begin walking back the way we came. Kate follows, traipsing by my side until I up the pace. I'm not sure what I thought I could achieve by bringing up the topic. I rebuke myself privately; it's not like either of us can change our birth dates.

"C'mon," I say to Kate and smack her ass: "Race you back."

I hear her gasp, but I'm off too fast to see her expression. I start running at a moderate speed down the dirt track, grinning to myself as I hear her catching up to me. Then all of a sudden, her arms fly around my neck from behind, pulling herself up, and she's on me, hanging onto my body in a piggy-back position.

"Kate!" I yell and quit running.

But before I can disentangle her, her mouth comes down and she bites me -- actually bites me, sinking her teeth into the flesh joining my neck and shoulder, before disengaging and jumping to the ground. I round on her to retaliate, but she's ducked around the other side and is already off, her ass and her ponytail bobbing jauntily as she sprints away from me.

"Oh," I laugh determinedly. "You are *mine*," I vow under my breath and race after her.

She turns as I gain on her, giggling and holding her hands up in mock surrender. But I show no mercy, bending and putting my shoulder to her abdomen, and chucking her swiftly over my shoulder as she shrieks in protest. I reduce my speed unable to run with her kicking, screaming, giggling body slung over mine, while she swats my back continually and calls me a Neanderthal.

"Truce!" she finally yells and goes still: "Truce."

I stop abruptly and carefully lower her to her feet. The blood has rushed to her face and her eyes are wet with laughter and her hair is falling out.

She giggles once and then stifles it. "Truce," she repeats gravely and holds out her hand.

I look at her red face and then look at her offered hand, and then I look at her face again. I seize her hand and pull, tugging her into me as my lips descend to hers for a hot kiss. Her surprised yelp is muffled as she allows me to draw her up against my body and devour her insistently. She lets me control the kiss, opening up her mouth and tipping back her head, giving me full access. I moan deeply and breathe through my nose as I explore her briefly, holding her body in place with one hand on her head and one on her tiny ass. When I'm done, I release her and she settles back on her feet, breathless and blushing.

"Truce," I nod as coolly as possible.

She nods slowly in agreement, licking her lips and assessing me with a frank eye. After a long pause, she sighs, places her hands on her hips and comments: "I know it bothers you."

Her voice is slightly knowing, slightly probing and I turn sharply, starting to walk along the dirt track again toward home. Kate positions herself at my elbow, matching my tempo and tilting her head up curiously. She obviously doesn't need an answer, because when I don't admit it she questions, more carefully: "Why does it bother you?"

I want to know if she notices people looking at us askance when we're together in public. I want to ask her if she's told her family about us, what her mother and sister said and whether I'm going to get funny looks from her brothers or father. I want to know what's going to happen at work and what she'll tell Abby or Tony when they ask her why she's with their grumpy old boss, of all people. I want to know if she feels like she has to defend herself or me -- and if she does, what she'll say. I want to know, out of all the men she could've had, why she picked me.

I clear my throat and look straight ahead: "It just looks wrong," I mumble, halfheartedly.

I see her nod in my peripheral vision and then she lifts my arm, ducks her head underneath and holds it around her shoulders.

"Does it feel wrong?" she asks, soft and sincere, so that I look down at her. She gazes up at me, clear and confident, and I stop walking, holding her eyes.

She's right, of course. It shouldn't matter how it looks from the outside. It shouldn't matter what others may say or think. All that matters is this.

"No," I admit honestly, my eyes drifting over her face.

If there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I did everything within my power to stop myself falling in love with Caitlin Todd, falling into a relationship with her, possibly ruining her career, ruining her life even. But Caitlin Todd doesn't need my protection and she doesn't want my renunciation. Because another thing I'm sure of is that I didn't succeed; I am in love with her, and it does feel right. That's what matters.

"No," I say again and exhale calmly.

She blinks up at me languidly, her mouth twitching gently upwards in the corners. She squeezes my hand on her shoulder and looks at me warmly.

Maybe someday it won't bother me so much and I won't have to be constantly reminded. When I look in the mirror and see grey hair and creases, or when I go for a run and feel my muscles giving way, it helps to know that the reason Kate is with this old grump of a man, is because for some strange reason, she loves him. I doubt it almost daily so it's lucky that she's around to remind me. I don't know how to thank her for that.

Kate smiles and shrugs. "You're welcome, Gibbs," she says lightly.

I lift my eyebrows in surprise but before I can open my mouth, she smacks my ass and takes off suddenly.

"Last one home makes lunch!" she yells to me, jogging backwards as I pick up my old feet start after her.

"Hey!--" I yell back, as she's about to turn and speed up: "You're MINE, Katie!!"

* * *

  
I've had enough peace and quiet and am ready for a little society, so at lunch, I suggest to Gibbs a night out. The cinema in town is a little behind the times – I've already seen "Pirates of the Caribbean" but as it's the only movie they're showing, I suppose I can see it again. Gibbs is reluctant though.

"It has boats in it," I wheedle hopefully.

"Boats? Or ships?" he asks seriously.

My face lights up: "Both, actually."

He smiles and agrees, saying he knows of a nice restaurant where we can get a good meal beforehand. I hug him, rather excited. It's our first real date, I realize with amazement.

I take a long soak in the bathtub in the late afternoon, drowning myself in the scent of rosewood and calendula. I can hear Gibbs working on the row boat out back and the birds crowing loudly in the trees. I close my eyes, dozing lazily for a long time until Gibbs knocks on the door and steps inside.

He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, taking a moment to look down at me in the bath. I love the way his eyes rake over me, like I'm everything he's ever dreamed of, wrapped up in one woman. His gaze is lingering and forthright and I don't bother to hide or move. I'm his to look at, love and know.

He says quietly that we need to leave soon and moves to the sink to shave. Somehow I am immeasurably touched by the fact that he is shaving for me, for a casual meal and movie in the sleepy, old town down the hill. From the bathtub, I admire the muscles of his back and arms as he slathers shaving soap on his cheeks and draws the razor over the weathered skin of his face in practiced moves. It's mesmerizing – curiously erotic – and I can't make myself stop watching.

He finishes, splashing water over his face and scrubbing it through his hair. Then he turns towards me, leaning down and planting both hands on either side of the tub. I smile and slide down a little further into the water, holding his gaze as he looks at me with a slightly pensive smirk. He doesn't say anything, just stares at my face, and I stare right back, reaching out to touch his clean-shaven, baby-soft skin.

"C'mon, my love," he murmurs finally, kissing me on the forehead: "We'll be late."

I smile again to myself as he leaves the bathroom, because it's the first time he's used an endearment without me using one first or prompting him. I douse myself one last time and then step out.

He's combing his wet hair when I enter the bedroom, a fresh blue shirt slung about his shoulders. It feels very domestic, getting dressed in the same room together, especially in this quiet house. Gibbs buttons his shirt slowly and combs his hair again, more than is probably required, watching from the corner of his eye as I slip on the black dress I have laid out. It's casual but stylish, with a halter neck and bare back, most unlike the work clothes that Gibbs is used to seeing me in. I'm glad I thought to bring it.

He goes to search for the car keys which we haven't needed in days as I let down my hair, brush it out and put on some pearl earrings and low heels. I'm standing at the little dresser, putting on the finishing touches when he appears in the doorway, car keys in hand and effortlessly gorgeous. The look on his face tells me he approves of the dress, and I feel his hand taste the skin of my back as he guides me out the front door.

The restaurant he takes me to is a small Italian joint with the requisite red and white checkered table-cloths and dangerously delicious cuisine. The owner and head waiter is a slight, elderly man named Brandon who kisses my hand as Gibbs introduces me. Like the rest of the town, he seems pleased that Gibbs has someone to eat his dinner with now. He provides us with a beautiful bottle of red and laughs vigorously when I order our meals in stumbling Italian.

When he leaves us, Gibbs leans across the little table, eyes twinkling intensely. I'm sure he knows I speak Italian, because it's in my personnel file. But I know he's never heard me and though I'm rusty, I silently bless my Italian Nonna who always insisted I practice my Italian with her.

"Well, that was…" he nods and coolly smoothes one hand over the table cloth. He clears his throat: "Possibly the sexiest thing I've ever witnessed in my life," he admits and I giggle low in my throat, with satisfaction.

" _Grazie_ ," I grin, cheekily as he captures my hand across the table.

"Keep it up and we won't make it to the movie," he jokes warningly and I decide to behave because I like Johnny Depp. And because two generous plates of bruchetta arrive promptly at our table and my mouth waters at just the smell of warm garlic and olives. Gibbs was right, the food is superb and after leisurely enjoying our dinner, we take our full stomachs and tipsy heads for a walk down to the cinema, strolling hand in hand, looking in closed shop windows and gazing at the stars.

Gibbs gets in line to purchase tickets, then hands me his wallet to get us some coffees. It's the sort of cinema where they still serve coffee in real cups and saucers and allow you to take it in with you. As I open Gibbs' wallet to pull out a note, I spot a photo in the clear insert. I am stunned but, unlike the other one I found, I'm proud of this image. It's the photo Gibbs took of me in my favorite green sweater, sitting on the white swing on the front porch of the cabin. I'd had the roll of film developed when we came into town the first time, but I had no idea he'd taken this one and kept it.

I hand over the money dazedly, taking the coffees and joining Gibbs in silence. I have no idea if he handed me the wallet knowing that I would see the picture inside, but if I wasn't carrying two hot coffees, I would throw my arms around him and kiss him silly. Instead, I dutifully deliver his coffee and follow him inside. When we've taken our seats, I lean across and kiss him softly and thoroughly.

"What was that for?" he asks.

" _Ti amo con tutto il cuore_ ," I reply in a whisper.

"Hm?" Gibbs looks at me with a creased brow.

" _Quiero hacerte el amor toda la noche_ ," I promise him for later. I smile at his bemused expression and tuck my head into his shoulder, vowing that if he doesn't understand now, I'll make sure he soon will.

* * *

  
Now, she's just teasing.

Kate told me yesterday morning that she was feeling a bit sore and she needed us to take a break so her body could recover. My immediate reaction was of intense guilt because on the night we went to the movies, after we came home, I made love to her as many times as I could summon up strength for and in as many ways and positions as I could possibly conceive of. I have never in my life seen a woman come so hard or so much. I worked her over so obsessively until she literally collapsed from satiated exhaustion.

And while Kate was by no means an unwilling participant in that night's marathon love-making session, she still has the fingertip bruises on her thighs to attest to the fact that I may have gotten a little carried away with her in the heat of passion. However, the last thing I ever want to do is hurt her.

It's not that I completely lack self-control. And it's not that we haven't gone a day or more without being together before. Very often, our work life does interfere with our love life and we will go through days without so much as a kiss. But it's different up here. Up here, we've been making up for lost time. Up here, I don't have the distraction of work or the restriction of other people around us.

Instead, what I have is Kate sitting on my porch in flimsy sundresses and dark glasses, her feet propped up on the railing and dress falling down over her slender legs. I have Kate perching herself on my lap, in just a light pink robe, deliberately trying to distract me from the world news, as I sit at the breakfast table, harmlessly enjoying my coffee and paper. And now, I've got her standing topless in my bedroom, in front of the dresser by the window, in full view of the trees and the sky and the wild reeds, calmly rubbing cream into her soft, smooth skin. Teasing me.

I watch from the doorway as she creases her brow at her reflection, continuing her devious and oblique self-study. Continuing my torture.

She is fully aware of my scrutiny as I watch her sink her fingers in the cream and slather it gingerly over her left shoulder, the shoulder lifting to receive the treatment and her head stretching to one side to observe, displaying for me the elegant slant of her neck. Turning back to the mirror, she swipes up more cream and tips up her chin, smoothing it over her neck and chest, her fingers dipping enticingly below her neckline, over the tops of her breasts.

I hold my breath, waiting to see if she will take herself in hand and massage her own silky softness. But, with a wistful sigh, she removes her hands and starts on her other shoulder instead. She knows exactly what she's doing, I muse knowingly, as I grind my teeth together from the threshold. I finished restoring the boat and, yesterday, we took her out into the lake. Kate sat beside me as we each took an oar and rowed out into the middle on the water, dropping anchor. I threw a line overboard and sat back with the reel in my lap, as Kate reclined at the opposite end, reading from an old book she'd found on the bookshelf in the living room. It was my Dad's copy of "Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner" which I remember him quoting now and then. I don't why Kate thought I was the poetry-type. I'm not, but I didn't mind relaxing and listening to her voice for awhile. At one point, she stopped and asked in that oh-so-logical way she has:

"Are there even fish in this lake, Gibbs?"

"I dunno," I shrugged, looking about at the water: "Could be."

Fishing is not just about the catch, I'd told her. Kate had merely adjusted her sunglasses and read on.

I didn't catch anything, unless a slimy, old boot counts, but by the time we came in Kate had acquired a nasty case of sunburn. She treated it by slathering herself throughout the night with copious amounts of sweet-smelling cream so that, by the time we went to bed, all I could smell was her fragrant, feminine skin.

But we were taking a break. I wouldn't try anything until Kate told me it was okay to. It was a sweet sort of agony, holding her as she fell asleep and not being able to relieve the burning in my boxers. We were both aware of it, nestled hopefully between us, but there was no way that I was going to follow its urging and risk hurting her.

So I watched her face gradually soften into slumber, and enjoyed the glossy skin under my fingers and the simple closeness of lying with her beneath the covers. For me, it took some getting used to, sleeping beside another person in bed again; and I'm still not completely accustomed to it. I'm not really much of a snuggler either, but Kate likes it -- to her, it's essential. Gradually, I'm learning, starting to understand the appeal. It really isn't that difficult to grasp.

I lay awake for a long time, attempting to calm my natural impulses. I am not used to suppressing my desire when it comes to this woman. Not anymore, at least. I've quickly become used to her being so utterly available to me now, that only one night off felt like the harshest punishment.

So standing in the bedroom doorway, clenching my fists and darkly observing her playful teasing, I am more than aware that I have not made love to her in over twenty-four hours. I am about to start calculating the exact time, down to the millisecond, when she turns from the mirror, towards me, giving me a full-frontal view of her tantalizing breasts. The sight makes me want to fall to my knees in adulation.

She looks like some sort of illicit cherub, standing so serene and composed, in a bright patch of sunlight coming in the window that makes the sheer, white skirt she wears practically see-through. It's all she wears, aside from the moisturizing cream and a thin, gold necklace. I can even glimpse the outline of her legs and the dark curls at her apex, underneath the gossamer material.

"Do my back?" she asks, innocuously, holding out the tub of moisturizer and holding my eyes, despite their accusing flicker.

I run my gaze over the wet tendrils of dark hair, sticking to her neck and the tops of her breasts, over the one sleek arm, reaching out and offering me the chance to touch her, over her nipples, soft and plump from her shower and down over the white skirt to her sun-kissed feet, fair against the deep brown wood.

I step over to her, slowly, hearing the floorboards creak under my weight. I feel absolutely enormous approaching her, with my muddy boots and coarse clothing and the sweat already breaking out on my brow. I hold her eyes steadfastly, only dropping my gaze over her again when I stand before her, purposely invading her personal space.

I've never seen a more tempting sight in my whole life. If Kate wants to take time out from sex, this is not the way to go about it. The scent of the lotion is rising into my nostrils again as they flare indignantly. What is she trying to _do_ to me?

The fact is she barely needs to try. Without so much as a kiss or a touch, I'm already hard as a rock. Not that she seems to notice or care. She offers the tub to me again as if she's offering me coffee with my breakfast – something she knows I'll always want.

Instead of obeying, playing her game, I step behind her, facing the mirror of the dresser. I'm about to turn her by her shoulders, but I don't want to injure the redness there that has deepened overnight. So, I move my hands to her waist, my thumbs moving along the waistband of her skirt as I turn her to face the mirror also. I can still see her from the waist up and she can see me over her shoulder, watching her reflection closely. She places the tub on the corner of the dresser and I lean in slowly to dip my fingers in it and gather some of the ointment. It feels cool and thick. Kate's eyes drop to the ground, her eyelashes lowered demurely as her chest inflates deeply, her whole body anticipating my touch.

"You think it's fun," I ask her huskily, my fingers pausing and hovering just above the curve of her shoulder: "teasing me like that?"

Her eyes flick up to mine in the mirror and she looks like a child who has been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. She swallows and licks her lips but doesn't answer.

"Hmm?" I prompt, quietly ominous, as I lower my gaze to her skin and let my fingers touch her. My whole body seems to sigh with relief. "You think two years of torture wasn't enough?" I ask, thickly, her flesh tingling under my barely perceptible touch.

I trace the distinct line between red and white where yesterday her clothes protected her and didn't from the harsh sun. Her skin feels hot and tender and her muscles writhe very slightly as I glide my palm unhurriedly over her upper back.

I withdraw my hand and look her over in the mirror: "You think it wasn't torture," I continue implacably: "seeing you everyday, looking at your mouth and your beautiful breasts and your legs, watching you walk and sit and smile and sleep…" I gather up her heavy, damp hair from off her back and shoulders and draw it all into my fist: "-- being able to look, but never touch?"

I tug gently at her hair, making her head pull back so she meets my eyes more fully.

Her breath is heavy and uneven as she gazes down her nose at me with wary, wide eyes. My gaze dips over her breasts again, arched gracefully toward the mirror, remembering how I could never help entertaining inappropriate thoughts about her whenever she wore those tight sweaters that practically burst with the plump, warm weight of her. How I used to secretly imagine her texture and shape and the exact color of her nipples-- the ruby nipples now gradually stiffening under my scrutiny.

"You think it wasn't torture for me," I tell her ruddy breasts, my voice breaking slightly with the tension: "smelling your hair and your perfume…?" I give her hair another little tug, careful not to hurt her, and stick my nose into the perfumed bundle of freshly-washed brunette hair, breathing in the shampoo I now know so well. She lets out a barely audible whimper and the sound along with the sweet smell sends another rush of blood directly to my groin.

"You think," I sigh, pulling my hand down out of her hair and watching the resultant droplets of water fall onto the small of her back and the wooden floorboards: "I didn't go through agony watching you go out with other men?"

I meet her eyes once more, placing her hair over her shoulder, so it curls like a black snake about her neck. I gather more of the cream and concentrate on treating the skin of her back I haven't yet touched. "Seeing you take their calls and dress up for them," I brood, distantly as my hand polishes her shoulder-blades deftly: "Imagine them kissing you and touching you…."

I'm imagining that horrible feeling right now. It was not so long ago that I don't remember that it was this divine torture, the constant tease, my insane envy that lead me to finally confronting myself and Kate about what I truly wanted, how I really felt.

"Imagine you kissing them….touching them…" I murmur, stroking further down her back with the cream where the sunburn has not afflicted her at all. I look up and in her eyes I see a gentle flicker of regret, of uncertainty. I withdraw my touch altogether, standing behind her with my hands on my hips and my clothes grazing her nakedness. My enflamed arousal reaches out towards her, unwaveringly, through my pants.

"You think," I state, a little louder, a little harsher: "I wouldn't have crawled across broken glass back then to be able to see you like this? Stand with you naked and be allowed to touch??"

Her face is colored with a flush of both arousal and shame. I know she was only teasing; I know she never meant to incite this sort of reaction from me. She stands motionless, speechless in front of me for a moment, our eyes locked in the mirror.

Then she leans back just a little, just enough for our bodies to come into contact, and God, I hope she's not teasing me anymore.

"Kate…" I sigh coarsely, anchoring my arms at my sides.

I close my eyes briefly as she pushes her ass back into the cradle of my pelvis and her head into the groove of my shoulder which was made for her. It's almost permission enough, and thankfully a moment later, she gives me the green light.

"You can touch…" she whispers, pulling one of my hands around her body: "I'm all yours now," she adds softly, wiggling against me irresistibly.

"Bend over," I tell her immediately, my voice quiet but steely.

My hand circles her smooth belly with a feather-light touch as she blinks at my reflection, her lips parting confusedly. She doesn't move from my hold for a moment, until I take a step back and nod my head sharply. She half-turns her head to look me in the eye, but I put out a hand to stop the movement.

"You heard me, Katie," I say softly, watching her closely: "Bend over and put your hands on the dresser."

She drops her eyes briefly and pouts a little as she slowly leans down and obeys, her elegant back stretched out before me and her veiled rear sticking out, directly in line with my eager erection. I pull in a breath and take a moment to admire the view.

Now it's my turn to play games, I think devilishly, my turn to tease.

"Good girl," I sigh and see her glance to one side archly in slight irritation at the phrase. Her face is right up close to the mirror and I can see every single expression that passes over her countenance. "Look at me, Katie," I order, quietly and watch her dark eyes slide slowly up to meet mine.

She stares at me from under her eyelashes, and I see some nervousness, some indecision and a whole lot of excitement. I feel my mouth turn up at the corners and my eyes smolder at her mirror image.

"Now," I breathe, trying to remain calm and in control, despite the fact that I am fast loosing all self-possession: "Lift up your skirt for me."

Her eyes widen questioningly and her breath hitches, startled. I watch her contemplate challenging me, but this time, I don't repeat the request. I stand behind her, waiting and watching, until she reaches behind her and gathers her skirt in both hands and begins pulling it up slowly. Her eyes are downcast in the mirror and she pauses with the material bunched into her hands, resting just below her ass.

My eyes drop to watch as she finally pulls it up over herself, the white material spilling liberally either side of her waist and leaving her bare and open to me. She takes a deep breath and places her hands back on the dresser to support herself.

"Good girl," I repeat distractedly, exhaling fiercely as I run my gaze over her uncovered legs and ass, and her crimson core, almost but not entirely concealed by her dark curls.

It is suddenly very hard for me to think or breathe properly, almost impossible for me to do anything other than stare. I am one very lucky sonovabitch.

Moving slowly, I lean over her body, not allowing any contact, and dip my fingers in the tub of cream again. Straightening, I paint both of her round little ass cheeks with a blob of lotion, then proceed to rub it in, tenderly and thoroughly, investigating each soft curve and then kneading her with both hands. I hear Kate giggle breathily, all tension having left her face when I lift my eyes to give her a slight smirk. Then I lean forward again, deliberately brushing the front of my pants over her exposed nakedness. I dunk my fingers again and this time, lower them to her already glistening sex. Kate sucks in a breath and I pause for a moment, my hand covering her delicately.

"Sore?" I ask softly.

She shakes her head emphatically and nods for me to continue. I pat her inner thighs once lightly and she obediently parts her legs, opening herself wider. I take her hips in my hands and gently tilt her up, examining her carefully. She's red and swollen, but no more than is usual.

"I don't want to hurt you," I murmur, spreading the lotion over her lips and swiping her clit once.

"You won't," she whispers, her lashes falling heavily.

Even so, I ‘m careful when I push into her, the vision of my thick, tanned fingers, parting and penetrating her silky cherry indescribably erotic. Her face is a perfect picture of pleasure as I fuck her gently on my digit, mixing the sweet cream with her own.

I add another finger, leisurely massaging her velvety walls and leaning down to lick and kiss the small of her back and the swell of her ass. She's panting and moaning, splayed out on the dresser and completely receptive to my seduction. She gasps a rare obscenity when my tongue slips down and swirls around her asshole.

"Gibbs…?!" she moans, as I straighten, half my hand still buried within her.

"What's the matter, Kate?" I question impassively: "Don't you like to be teased?"

She groans impatiently and drops her head onto the pillow of her folded arms. I retrieve my wet fingers and furtively begin unzipping my pants, my eyes still on her lowered head.

"You didn't answer my question," I point out, calmly, watching her flushed face rise to meet my gaze again. She blinks once slowly and her lips quiver a few times, but she can't decide how to answer. I take myself in hand and see her face light up with surprise and satisfaction when I circle her opening with the tip of my cock.

"Hmm? You like to be teased, Katie?" I grin darkly and watch a shudder run down her spine. She still doesn't answer and I realize all of a sudden that Kate *does* like the tease, its part of the turn-on for her. That's why she employed it on me.

I groan and push inside her slowly, only teasing her entrance with the head of my penis. She whimpers wetly, her head thrown back and her face so completely open and accessible, painted with the lustful admission of my new insight. For her, this is the best part, the anticipation, the expectation.

"Yeah, that's what you like, isn't it, baby?" I mutter triumphantly, grasping her hips and holding still for as long as humanly possible as she pants and tries to push herself back on me.

I begin pumping her dripping opening shallowly with just the tip of my staff. It's yet another form of torture for me, but I have to take it easy. Once I'm inside her, I have a feeling after all this teasing and one night of abstinence, I'm not going to last very long.

"Please, Gibbs, please," she sighs, with eyes closed, her hands clutching the edges of the dresser.

I press all the way inside her, smooth and controlled: "Is this what you want?" I ask, holding myself deep within her and clenching my jaw against the incredible pleasure.

"Yesss," she hisses, aching back against my intrusion.

The feeling of her encircling me is heavenly and it takes everything I've got not to thrust, not to stay sheathed so tightly within her, not to erupt instinctively. I withdraw from her completely, damn near killing myself, but satisfied by the bewildered look of loss on her face:

"Too bad I'm not done teasing you yet," I murmur offhandedly and reach for the cream again, grabbing a big handful and rubbing it between my palms.

Kate stares at me in shock, wondering no doubt what I'm about to do next. She watches as I lean over her bowed body, reaching under her and eagerly massaging her breasts with both slippery palms. She fits me perfectly, her nubile roundness cupped and manipulated easily and her nipples tightening as if on cue. I hum happily and rub my erection over her slick slit as I fondle her and soak the cream into the skin of her stomach and sides as well. I'm so utterly lost in her body as I begin plastering kisses on her shoulders and back, my fingers pulling insistently at her taut nipples. All her different smells are permeating my brain as she squirms beneath me, languid and sensitive and patient. And I hear her earlier words resonate about my endlessly astonished mind: ‘…I'm all yours now…all yours…'

I still can't believe it sometimes, how she continually gives herself to me. I cannot comprehend that this body, this woman, this love is mine, after so long. I never want to be without her or it again --and I never have to be. The torture of not having her for my own is long over. Now I have to deal with the tease of having her, belonging to her, owning her for the rest of my insane life.

As much as I would love to tease her more, keep us both locked in this excruciatingly pleasurable game, I don't think I can wait any longer. And why would I, when what we both want so badly is so agonizingly within reach?

"Look at me, Katie," I tell her again, my words mere puffs of air as I rest my chin on her shoulder, watching our image in the mirror. She obeys, locking her gaze with mine and reading the need deep within. She nods to me and braces herself on the dresser, as I rise up behind her, my hands on her ass again.

"Lemme tell you something," I puff softly, entranced by her face and her eyes, as I slowly slip inside her again: "You *never*… have to bait me…. into wanting you." I run my hands up her back as my hips meet her soft ass, and back down again to grasp her waist. Her body trembles visibly, but her gaze doesn't leave my face. "I already want you," I murmur, pulling out and pushing in again with one smooth, deep plunge: "more than anyone…. or anything in my life."

Kate's eyes are large, her expression stunned as she drinks in my confession. From my prime position, I can see reflected her shining face, poised with passion, and her ample breasts swaying gently with the impact of movements; and if I look down, I can see her back, rippling lazily and pert ass, sticking out and my immense arousal burrowing inside her hot center.

"Sometimes," I tell her thickly, reaching under her to pet her dangling breasts as I thrust into her body addictively: "it's like I want you… more than my next breath…"

Like now, I think to myself dazedly.

It occurs to my desire-addled brain that she's not getting any stimulation to her clitoris in this position. And I would rectify that except that it means letting go of one of her breasts and sacrificing some of the quality which is making my deep, measured thrusts so gratifying.

I could tell her to reach down and bring herself off but I haven't finished my current train of thought and I'm not exactly capable of another. It feels so good to tell her all this, what I went through over her, and evidently, to Kate, it's quite a revelation. I'm aware that her response to my voice is almost as strong as it is to my touch. Right now, she looks like she could practically come just from my words alone.

"Even in my sleep," I pant, relinquishing her eyes and pumping a little harder: " _I… Want… You_."

My movements are speeding up and my control is slipping. I'm not going to last long and I know she's not where I am. I straighten again, my hands slipping back to her hips. I grip her waist firmly; my fingers tangled in her white dress, as I drive into her relentlessly, my hips slapping against her bare ass.

"Want you, Kate…" I babble insanely, closing my eyes and arching back for added leverage: "Always wanted you…All mine, now…All MINE."

My face screws into a tight grimace as I try to hold back, try to wait for her, try to prolong the sweet torment of possessing her so wholly. But, once again, I hear Kate give me her whispered permission:

"It's alright, Gibbs…" she says gently and I can feel her gaze on me from the mirror: "let go… you can let go…"

"Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" I gasp, feeling my balls tighten unbearably and smack her wet lips, as I move behind her feverishly. I groan loudly as I feel her start to squeeze me tightly with her tiny pussy-walls: "Oh, yeeeaaahhh…"

"Come on, Gibbs," she urges breathily: "come in me."

She's milking me repetitively with her strong internal muscles, and it's more than I can possibly withstand. My fingers dig into her hips and my whole body throws itself into plunging into my Kate. I howl her name, thunderous and euphoric as I thrust into her one last time and explode with rapture. I collapse on her back, slick with sweat and lotion, my breathing heavy and my head swirling. She's still working me gently as I throb limply in the aftermath. After several silent minutes, I plant my floppy hands on the dresser to take some of my own weight off her.

"You didn't come," I mumble slurringly, with the last brain cell I have still functioning.

"S'okay," Kate soothes, reaching back and patting my cheek.

I kiss her palm lazily. My eyelids are very heavy, and I can't really feel my legs, but I wonder whether I have energy enough to get on my knees and suck her clit until she cries.

"This one's on me," she tells me with a little lilt in her tone. Her back expands under me as her breathing starts to deepen. "There's always next time," she adds, wickedly.

I groan pathetically; I can't believe I am willingly going to put myself through this torture again. No wonder I avoided falling in love if this is what it does to a man.

"I want you to come," I grumble, not wanting to leave her unsatisfied. Don't want her calling me a Neanderthal again, I think hazily.

Kate turns her head and at last, looks me in the eye: "It's not just about the catch, Gibbs," she informs me slyly with a self-satisfied smile.  
I grumble and open my eyes enough to glare at her dimly. Pulling back, I extract myself gently from her warm sheath, where I would happily stay buried for most of my life and massage her carefully for a moment. She accepts the caring caress but doesn't seem to want any more than that. I wrap my arms around her and nuzzle her neck insistently, as she straightens gingerly.

"What did I do to deserve you?" I mumble into her hair exhaustedly. I swear she will, one day, be the death of me. She is Torment incarnate -- but absolutely worth every exquisite affliction.

"Don't know, Gibbs," she murmurs and strokes my cheek again with creamy fingers: "Guess you're just lucky."

I grin groggily and capture her bright eyes over her shoulder: "Don't I know it."  
  
  
  
**_Part III._**  
  
  
I must've fallen asleep in the car on the way back. We visited Ellie at her farmhouse yesterday and she was kind enough to lend us two of her more docile mares. Neither Gibbs nor I had ridden in quite some time, but we managed not to break any bones as we plodded along on Mona and Shiva across the vast, wild landscape which virtually glittered with beauty under the bright, warm sun. We took our time, exploring and admiring nature's supreme handiwork and chatting quietly. It was possibly one of the most peaceful and romantic afternoons I've ever spent.

Guided by Gibbs' innate sense of direction and gaining some confidence on our rides we cantered back to the house where Ellie had tea waiting for us. She talked a little of Gibbs' father and even showed me some photos she'd dug out of Jethro growing up. Apparently she had been very fond of Gibbs senior and had known his son since he was a little boy. Despite an age difference of barely eighteen years, she seemed to have taken on the role of a surrogate aunt to him. She showed me a snapshot of Jethro with Jessica, his childhood crush and whispered to me that she'd never seen the man so happy in his life.

"I can tell you're good for him," she'd added conspiratorially and I felt so touched, like I'd been given a blessing from the closest thing to family Gibbs has left.

She'd nearly cried when she'd hugged him goodbye, holding on tight and closing her eyes. She'd ordered him good-humoredly to look after me and me to look after him, as she embraced me as well and walked us to our car.

Last thing I recall is being curled up in the seat next to Gibbs, watching his face, splashed with the dim lights from the dashboard as he drove carefully over the rocky roads, through the pitch black night. He must've carried me inside and put me to bed because I wake in the cabin, in our bed, with him staring down at me worriedly.

"What's the matter?" I ask croakily in response to his creased brow and searching eyes. He sits on the edge of the bed, still in the t-shirt and boxers he sleeps in, coffee cup in hand and face only partially visible to me in the first light of day which creeps in the window.

"You called out for me," he says quietly: "I think you had a nightmare."

He puts out a hand and strokes my hair and I get a sudden flash of him doing the same thing as I lie on the ground somewhere, struggling for breath. I blink up at him in confusion.

"You okay?" he asks gently, continuing to stroke my hair.

I'm speechless for a moment. I did have a nightmare, I now remember, but I can't seem to recollect it all, just some isolated emotions and brief impressions. We were on a case, I think, but not one from our past. Maybe, one of my own imagining. There was a shadowy villain with, strangely enough, another Kate. He was trying to separate us, trying to hurt Gibbs, through me.

He was in danger, I was sure of it. And I had a weapon, but it was useless.

"I thought you were going to die…" I murmur distantly, trying to connect the pieces of the plot: "I thought…" My voice trails off as I focus fixedly on the weave of the sheet. I thought I was going to die, I realize, and leave him all alone.

Gibbs' thumb smooths over my forehead, erasing the worry lines. He draws my eyes up to his and tells me calmly: "It was just a dream."

I look into his eyes and remember the feeling of my heart freezing over when I thought we would be separated from each other permanently. At this moment, I don't believe his comforting reassurance. Part of me is still back in that other world, possessed with that enormous sense of fear and loss. I sit up and put my arms around his neck, holding onto him securely, still disturbed by some prophecy I cannot even properly identify.

Gibbs hugs me gently: "You had a nightmare," he whispers softly, rubbing and warming my chilled skin: "That's all, it was just a dream."

I start to come back to myself and the real world with the touch of him and the reality of his words. So many things are swirling around my head, in two split-realities. So many thoughts, so many feelings, so many things I both want to remember and don't. There is something I desperately want to say, to assure him of, but I don't know what it is.

"I'll never leave you," I tell him finally, not sure why those were the words I chose, but I repeat them, resolutely with my eyes sealed shut: "I'll never leave you," I whisper into his shoulder.

Gibbs buries his face in my neck and holds onto me tight. Suddenly I feel like I'm the one comforting him. I know he needs to hear those words, and from his grip I can sense just how much. The words repeat over and over in my brain like a self-affirming chant, as an intense feeling of gratitude rises in my breast. We are safe. Both of us. And that surreal vision can never catch us now.

"Promise me something?" I ask him, gravely as I pull back and look at him. My eyes scan his face, every beloved feature and pierce his eyes, to let him know how important this is to me.

"What?" he replies, watching me closely.

"I never want to stand on a rooftop with you. _Ever_ ," I utter, faltering but adamant, and he creases his brow at me in puzzlement.

I hold his eyes determinedly. I'll stand beside him anywhere else – but not there. I'm aware that it sounds like a ridiculous request, but he must understand that it has to do with my _bete noir_. Maybe he agrees just to comfort me but I watch him nod silently in agreement.

"I mean it, Gibbs," I tell him, unwaveringly, feeling tears threaten my eyes: "If we ever find ourselves on one….we're out of there as fast as possible."

"Oka-ay," he nods slowly and drops his gaze, picking up my hand.

"Promise--" I urge, persistently, gripping his hand to seal the bargain.

He weighs my hand in his for a moment, eyes downcast then tips his head to one side in assent. "I don't believe in tempting fate, Kate," he says quietly, by way of an answer, then he looks up again to meet my eyes. Gibbs is more acquainted with the laws of the universe than many would imagine. Karma, coincidences, hunches, foresight, he doesn't dismiss them as a rule and in this possibly meaningless vision, he may recognize, as I do, the justice of something working in our favor, some benevolent, protective force warning us. The panicky feeling is already fading but I'll never entirely forget it and refuse to disregard it as simply a temporary madness. I can feel it's validity in my gut.

I squeeze his hand and hold his eyes until he gives me the pledge I require: "Promise, Gibbs," I insist quietly.

I intend to hold him to it, no matter what. Now that I have made my commitment to this man, I will not break it. Our work requires that we put our lives on the line everyday, we both understand that. But we both also realize, I think, that we have far more to loose now than ever before. Whether we can continue to work together will have to be decided pretty soon, but I know that, either way, whenever he is in the field, I will always worry for him, until he is back in my sight. So if there happens to be any desolate concrete rooftops in our future, I will make damn sure that we find another way, even if I have to remind him of this vow.

His other hand reaches out and touches my cheek, as he studies my face thoughtfully for a moment. Finally, he nods and says softly to my utmost relief: "I promise."

* * *

  
"Say it," I urge.

"Why?" she sulks.

"Just say it," I insist.

Kate sighs and twists on the white swing so she's reclining, with her feet propped on the armrest and her head in my lap. It's her favorite position of late.

The swing rocks gently as she settles and I look down at her face, her cheeks glowing from the early morning sun and her hair still in a disheveled state of bedhead. She got out of bed and came to find me last night where I was sitting on the couch, staring at the fire, bourbon in hand. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't stop looking at her and allowing the doubts to creep in and claim me. So I left her to her peace. Then, just as I was starting to believe that we had both made a gigantic mistake, she appeared, half-asleep and concerned, wrapped in a heavy blanket.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a slurred sigh.

"Thinking," I replied, looking at her like an angel savior. "What are you doing?"

"I was cold," she mumbled, rubbing her eyes and looking at me more clearly.

She was cold without my arms around her, without my body next to her. She remained standing until I beckoned her to the couch, the blanket trailing on the floor as she moved toward me. She grumbled tiredly as she climbed into my lap, draping the blanket over my shoulders and pressing her face under my chin. All worry vanished with the warm weight of her in my arms. I stroked her lightly as she dropped off to sleep again and my own eyelids drooped with weariness.  
This could be no mistake.

Kate had shifted gradually throughout the night, stretching out on the couch and using my thigh as a pillow. I woke at the break of dawn, looking down at the sleeping woman laid out before me, her eyelashes dark against her cheeks, her soft breasts pressed against my thigh through her thin cotton top and one hand curled about the hem of my t-shirt. I tried to shift her away a little so her warm breath wasn't brushing the material of my boxers, so her lips weren't tickling the hairs on my leg.  
But unconscious Kate would have none of it, snuggling closer determinedly and pouting in her sleep. I couldn't help but groan at the incredible sight and feel of my little sex kitten sprawled over my lap and completely oblivious to the effect she was having. The low noise woke her and her eyes snapped open, landing squarely on the part of my anatomy that needed no such encouragement to awaken in the morning.

Big bedroom eyes climbed up to meet mine, holding my gaze for a heart-stopping moment and rendering me completely speechless. Then her eyes descended lazily again as she reached out with slow, sure movements to uncover me and take me in her mouth. I let out an explosive breath and groaned again, noisily, powerless to tear my eyes from the sight of her lavishing me with wet tongue and enveloping me with rosy lips. I placed a hand on her head, stroking her hair as I watched her making love to me with her soft, sweet mouth. I didn't last long, climaxing unexpectedly in deep, powerful waves with her name on my breath. Before I could open my eyes, she was up on her feet.

"Coffee?" she asked, shuffling into the kitchen in t-shirt and panties and ruffling my hair as she went.

I think I grunted, not quite capable of higher brain function. It was a rhetorical question anyway.

Kate's finished her coffee, but I'm still sipping at my second cup as we loll in the swing enjoying the sunshine that hits the front porch so brilliantly in the mornings.

"Just try it," I mumble to Kate, tracing the dip of her nose with one finger.

She settles her head in my lap more comfortably and grimaces adorably. Then she takes a deep breath and says softly: "Jethro."

Hah, I think triumphantly, I like it. I've always liked the sound of my second name from a woman's lips. It sounds breathy, soft, and sexy – even more so from this woman's.

Kate screws up her nose: "It feels strange."

"You're not used to it, that's all," I reason, vaguely offended.

She can't keep calling me by my last name. It's starting to get weird. I love the way she says it, with a little lisp at the end, and love the way she shouts it when we're in bed. But that's immaterial. What if we get married? How are we going to explain it to people? How are we going to explain it to our kids? -- I don't voice that thought.

"Why ‘Jethro' and not ‘Leroy'?" she asks, arranging her robe over her thighs. We haven't even gotten out of our pajamas yet.

"'Leroy' is weird," I reply, taking a sip of coffee. It's almost strong enough.

"And ‘Jethro' isn't?" she retorts amusedly.

"What's wrong with ‘Jethro'?" I demand incredulously.

She grins impishly, having extracted the reaction she wants from me. "Nothing, nothing," she mutters, under her breath.

"Huh. Thank you," I huff: "Caitlin."

She frowns up at me and meets my eyes. "Jethro," she acquiesces, experimentally.

I cock my head to the side. "Say it again," I urge expectantly.

"Jethro," she murmurs, looking into my eyes.

"Again?" I ask and smile. I trace her hairline and jaw with one finger.

Her eyelids flutter as she breathes: "Jethro."

I nod: "Mmm. Again."

She smiles: "Jethro…"

"Yes, Katie?"

* * *

  
It's the last few days of our vacation and I'm starting feel sad already that our time up here is coming to an end. Today we packed up the car and headed further up into the mountains. There's a particular fishing spot that Gibbs wants to visit tomorrow. For tonight though, we have set up camp by a shimmering lagoon and are lying under a sky full of stars.

It took us three hours of dusty roads and a further half an hour hike to get here. But it was worth it. It's a beautiful spot, and we wasted no time in ripping off our clothes and wading into the sparkling water to cool down. There is a small waterfall over the opposite side of the water – more like a high rock with a gentle trickle than a downpour. We took turns climbing up and diving off into the deep water below. We swam and floated and held each other in the lapping, enveloping water.  
We're almost dry now. Gibbs has built a fire and made us some campfire fare – something he is very good at, unsurprisingly. The sun set about an hour ago and I forget, being out of the city, how dark night can get. And how still. Insects skate across the surface of the water, and the birds rustle in their beds. The wind has stilled, and we lie sprawled, side by side, on a big rug, in comfortable silence.

I am quite capable of being quiet and there's no one I'd rather be quiet with than Gibbs, but a question has been developing in mind recently and I know I need to ask it soon. I'm trying vainly to summon up the guts to break the silence and broach the subject. This is the time and place for us to be discussing these things, but I guess I'm just afraid of his response.

"What?" Gibbs asks, hearing my unvoiced worry.

I bite my lip and turn my head to look at him. "Why don't you have children, Gibbs?" I ask tentatively, after a long pause.

He told me that Gillian, his first wife, miscarried twice during their marriage; it was one of the problems that drove them apart and lead to their separation. Shortly after their eventual divorce, she adopted a young teenager called Holly, who despite the acrimonious split, Gibbs had a special fondness for, faithfully taking on the role of the girls' surrogate father.

But when a dangerous case he was working on put both Gillian and Holly quite literally in the firing line, he felt he had no choice but to pull away. Something the young girl never understood he did only out of care and concern. He also told me that Diane, his second wife, was not very interested in sex. Personally I find this utterly unconscionable, having had the pleasure of knowing her ex-husband, but explains the lack of off-spring from that union.

That still leaves one wife unaccounted for though and it seems so odd that a man of his age and appeal has never procreated. I have wondered whether family life is something he foresaw for himself but that didn't eventuate; or something he simply doesn't think about. I desperately don't want him to tell me that he doesn't want children and never has. I have observed him with kids through our work and he certainly doesn't seem adverse to them. In fact, he is great with kids and seems to have a real soft spot for them.

I'm convinced he'd make a wonderful dad and I can't think of anything more perfect than being able to come up here in a few years with our little Gibbs-ites and let them loose to run about the lake and woods. It feels a little soon to be talking about it but as much as I fear being heartbroken by his response, it would be far worse to be heartbroken years from now when I am more deeply in love with him than ever and truly ready to start a family.

I watch his face as he struggles to find an answer for me, then I turn on my side and speak more directly: "I really want children, you know."

He turns and looks at me, an inscrutable expression on his face.

I avert my eyes, unnerved by the patented Gibbs stare, and fluster unfunnyily: "I mean, not right now, not this very second…"

He smiles slightly, looks down and answers: "I know."

I nod -- I knew he knew; he understood that I wanted a family before we got together. Only now it's a reality we need to honestly address as a couple. I wait for him to say something more, to tell me what his thoughts are on the topic. His face remains unreadable, his eyes impenetrable.

"How do you feel about that?" I prompt a little impatiently. I'm asking about our future and what it's going to look like. I watch his face as he considers my question, eyes turned towards the stars and jaw clenching repetitively.

Finally, he replies quietly: "Lucky."

I smile in relief and turn his face so he meets my eyes. I give him a little kiss on the lips then lay my head next to his on the pillow that we are sharing. I sigh as I slip my hand into his and he throws a blanket over the two of us. Gibbs is still gazing at the stars when I close my eyes and I drift off to sleep.

* * *

  
She's there one minute and gone the next. I was watching from the kitchen window as she wandered around the yard for a long while doing I know not what. The last thing I saw was her fiddling with the rope of the row boat, which floats at the edge of the lake. When I look back, the boat is floating freely in the middle if the water and there is no sign of Kate.

My heart jumps into my throat without warning. Did I look away for two minutes or too many?

I scan the area quickly from the left to the right, and back to the left again. No Kate.

I stride to the door and step outside, checking the porch and steps where she likes to sit and sketch. No Kate.

I bound down the steps and down the dirt path towards the water, stopping to search the yard frantically and squinting off into the distance in confusion.

"Kate?!" I yell and strain to hear a response. No response. Shit.

I belt towards the lake and scan the surface of the water for any sign of distress or disturbance, but all is quiet. I reach the edge, panting roughly more from fear than exertion, but all I see is her jacket in the reeds.

"Kate!?!" I holler, my heart pounding in panic and my mind already racing with the worst possibilities. This can't be happening, my lips mumble mutely of their own volition, this can't be true. "KATE!!!!!"

"What?!" comes a startled voice from my left and I turn to see her ducking out of the scrub and making her way towards me.

I curse under my breath and turn away for a moment. My entire body relaxes, my spine crumples like jelly and my eyes close over for a moment in extreme relief. She gave me a real scare. Years of my job have trained me to expect the worst in every situation and to react accordingly on impulse. But it had been a hell of a long time since I'd had a scare like that. It had been a hell of a long time since I cared enough to get scared.

I turn back to her as she approaches, her brow creased with worry and her eyes filled with concern.

"What's wrong?" she asks softly, brushing dirt from her hands

I let out a breath and shake my head at the hills: "Nothing. You scared me is all. I thought--" I look at her expression and hesitate -- I've scared her now. Never mind what I thought. "Nothing. Doesn't matter," I smile weakly and feel my heartbeat return to normal.

"C'mere," I beckon with one arm and she steps over immediately, still scanning my face with distressed eyes. I draw her into my arms and feel her hug me about my middle, with her cheek pressed into my shirt.

I take a deep breath and kiss her hair: "What are you doing out here anyway?" I ask quietly and she tilts her head up to look at me.

"I'll show you, "she says, her eyes lighting up as she takes my hand.

She leads me in the direction she came from, wading through some brush, following the edge of the shore and ducking under a willow tree on the left bank of the lake. On the ground, by the root, is a collection of sticks which she has ground to pulp and discarded while carving into the tree truck the jagged figure of a love heart. She smiles brilliantly at me and I can't help but chuckle tenderly as she picks up her instrument again, blowing on the wooden tip playfully, before retracing with a perfectionists eye the inscription she has etched into the core: "JETHRO + KATIE".

* * *

  
On the last morning we have at the cabin, Gibbs brings me breakfast in bed, just like he did on the first. I remember waking up on that first day that seems so long ago, to the sounds of rain patting on the roof and Gibbs pottering in the kitchen. He still wakes early and I still wake late. He came into the bedroom with a mug of sweet coffee and a plate of toast, setting them in my lap as I sat up.

"Mmm," I hummed smugly: "I could get used to this."

"So could I," Gibbs had replied softly, running his eyes over my rumpled figure, with a lop-sided smile.

He has brought me the same breakfast this morning and delivers it to me with a kiss, before taking a seat on the bed. Waking up, my thoughts are on the last two weeks we have spent up here and all that we have discovered and experienced. If I'm honest, when we first came up here, I was absolutely certain that I was in love with this man. And now, as we leave, I am certain that he's in love with me.

It seems like forever ago that we arrived, and I dread returning to our normal lives in the city. But my biggest wish is that we will someday be back here again.  
I take a long sip of coffee then bite into my toast, watching Gibbs' face as he fumbles with my discarded cardigan. His thoughts emerge fairly quickly this morning; perhaps he's been preparing since he woke.

"Kate…" he begins intently and shrugs a little: "Do you think that…. somewhere down the track….you know, after we get everything settled at work, and….after I meet your family and, ah….do you think that, one day….. you might marry me?"

I can't decide whether to smile or sob or laugh or choke. I have to remind myself to breathe and to chew as I blink at him in silent shock. I swallow a mouthful of bread, making it scratch my throat and swipe my fingers across my lips. Gibbs looks at me, seemingly calm and patient. He probably knows what my answer is -- but I never thought he would ask, especially so soon. He's cautious when it comes to marriage -- with good reason, I now know -- which is why this means so much.

"Yes, Jethro…" I croak finally, feeling my heart swelling in my chest: "I think that's a definite possibility."

"Good," he nods decisively and gets up from the bed.

"Jethro?" I ask, regaining a little strength to my voice.

He turns at the foot of the bed and looks at me. He likes the sound of that name, I can tell.

"You think, maybe…" I muse hopefully: "—somewhere down the track, we can come back here again?"

Something about this he finds amusing, because he laughs slightly and wags his head at the floor. I wonder what he's thinking. I wonder if it's anything like what I'm thinking – this place would make a beautiful honeymoon spot. He raises his head again and smiles at me, nodding silently in agreement. I beam at him wholeheartedly and feel my eyes shinning with love.

He turns again to leave and I call him back a second time, putting my breakfast aside and crawling out from under the covers. He watches me walk on my knees to the end of the bed and then reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. I know we have to leave today, but I don't want to think about it right now. I see his eyes go all soft as I draw him down to the bed and I feel his body submit as I suggest with long kisses that our departure be postponed, for a little while at least.

* * *

  
Just as we're leaving, Kate hands me a sketch. She wanders out of the spare room, where, over the last weeks, she has spent hours on end, sitting at the little desk by the window, drawing in her sketchbook and on every scrap of paper she could lay her hands on. Often, I would see her sitting outside too, her sketchbook propped on her knee as she penciled the swing on the porch or the ducks in the lake or the heart in the willow tree.

She hasn't shown me a lot of what she's been working on so diligently all this time, but I understand that like me with my boats, drawing is something Kate does for herself and not necessarily to reach a desired end. Plus, her eye for perfection tends to make her overly-critical of anything she produces. Which is why I'm a little surprised to be handed a small sketch on a small piece of stiff, white paper.

We stand by the door, with the last of our belongings at our feet as I examine what she's given me. It‘s heavily shaded and richly detailed, exhibiting skillfulness, perception and attention in the artist. She must have done this when I was working on the row boat out back. I'd taken my time with it, sanding and repainting it over a few days, enjoying the easy labor, the texture and shape of the boat, the warm sun and the quiet surroundings. I had no idea she'd been paying such close attention though.

She has drawn me from behind, so my face is not in view, but even so, she has captured me entirely, right down to the wrinkled shirt, gnarled hands and slightly stooped shoulders. There is a concentration and absorption to the slope of my back and the abrasion of my hand against the vessel which lies upturned in the long grass, silent and solid and receptive to the treatment. There is something tranquil and touching and very profound about the simplicity and the feeling in the image. I like it -- I like it a lot.

"I thought maybe," says Kate slowly: "we should leave it here -- it belongs here."

I look at her and nod, silently. Then, still studying the picture, I step over to the bookcase and position it carefully on the top shelf, right above the only other image I have of myself. I can easily make a simple wooden frame for Kate's artwork, I think, and next time we're up here, I'll hang it in this spot.

I turn back to her with a smile. She tucks her sketchbook under her arm and lifts her bag onto her shoulder. Her brown eyes are shining with emotion, and I know she wishes we could stay longer, just as I do.

I move close and stroke her cheek with my fingers. "Ready?" I ask quietly, not wanting our time to be over.

She smiles bittersweetly and whispers: "Ready."

She heads out the door and I follow her, turning to take one last look around and glance at her sketch on the bookshelf. The last few weeks have been perfect. And even though I'm confident we'll return someday, it'll never be the quite the same. This was our first vacation. It was where Kate and I learnt to trust our love.  
It will be good to come back, but it will be different. And while part of me regrets leaving, another part of me is excited about what we and our life will look like when we return. Whatever happens to us now, we'll always be able to come back here and remember this time. I flick out the lights and lock the door securely, stuffing the key in my pocket as I go.  
  
  
**Part IV.**  
  
  
Gibbs dropped me off at my apartment about two hours ago. We didn't stage any grand romantic farewell. He helped me with my bags, gave me a quick peck and told me he'd see me tomorrow. I'd closed the door, foolishly thinking that I was ready and in need of some alone time.

I have unpacked my bags, thrown all my laundry in the basket and put everything else back in its correct place. I've listened to my messages but decided it's too late to call anyone back. And besides, something inside me doesn't want people to know I'm back, doesn't want the outside world to encroach just yet. I wander aimlessly between the coffeepot in the kitchen, the couch strewn with photos and my desk covered in sketches. There's one of the cabin that I'm particularly proud of. I think I might have it framed and hung over my desk.

I slop back to the couch, throwing myself into the cushions and sorting through all our vacation photos for the fourth time. I slurp at my coffee, and glare at a particularly devastating one of Gibbs with his frank, blue eyes and his crisp, cream turtleneck. How could he do this to me? How could he give me the vacation I've always wanted and then expect me to go back to being the perfect little NCIS poster girl? How could he hand me, one by one, my every fantasy and then insist I continue on with my mundane reality?

I get up and put some more sweetener in my coffee. I'm being overdramatic. I love my job and I love my friends and the people I work with, even Tony -- most of the time. I don't resent going to work for Gibbs and I'm not really angry with him for giving me the best two weeks of my life. I just feel a little lost. Wandering around my apartment, I feel displaced. I don't know what to do with myself. Somehow our little vacation seems to have changed everything. My old life doesn't fit me anymore. It doesn't seem complete.

I stand indecisively in the middle of the kitchen attempting to drown the lump in my throat, as tears spring to my eyes. Then I make a snap decision. I rush to the bedroom to grab a few things and stuff them in my overnight bag, then snatch up my keys, as I leave.

It's going to be nearly midnight by the time I reach his place but all can think of is seeing him again, being in his presence. I have no awareness, as I negotiate the roads and the traffic and the dark night, of what I might say when I see him or how it might appear to him, showing up like this. We'd said we should spend the night apart and arrive at work separately. Maybe we should -- it would be the smart thing to do -- but I don't know if I could. Clearly, I'm not possessed of very good impulse-control, especially when it comes to a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired man of mine.

I feel a bit strange knocking on his door – I never knocked at the cabin. I wait restlessly, shifting from one foot to the other and biting my lip. He takes some time to answer and it occurs to me that maybe he's already gone to bed. I start to reconsider just as the heavy, wooden door swings open and Gibbs' surprised expression greets me.

I squirm uncomfortably for a moment then manage to say unimaginatively: "Hi."

"Hi," he returns questioningly, then steps to the side in silent invitation.

I enter slowly and, as he leans in to shut the door behind me, I allow my eyes to drift shut briefly. The heady, male smell of him still disrupts my thought processes. I wonder vaguely whether it's possible to miss someone in just three hours.

"You okay?" he asks quietly after several long minutes of me staring at him.

God, his voice is sexy. I decide it is possible, but I don't voice the thought, it might give him ideas. I just nod mutely in reply, helpless against the large lump rising up in my throat once more. I drop my gaze to the floor and Gibbs reaches out, taking my wrist and drawing me into his arms.

His embrace is so gentle, so caring, and years ago, when this man first held me, I never would have guessed that it could be possible for me to find such comfort in that hard, distant, arrogant bastard I was first introduced to. But I did, back then in that cramped bathroom and I'm not afraid to ask for that comfort again now. I sniff back tears, squeezing my eyes shut to stop them tumbling and clutching him tightly in my arms.

"Miss me that much, huh?" he murmurs softly and I swat him lightly for being smug. "You okay?" he asks again, peering at my partially obscured face, a little concerned.

I nod again, my cheek chafing against the material of his shirt. I am now. I breathe in deeply, reveling in his well-known scent. He still smells like the cabin. He holds me tighter, drawing patterns over my spine through my clothes as I dig my fingertips into his back. I love the feel of him -- the big, strong, lean, familiar suppleness of him.

"Everything will be okay," he tells me evenly, one hand holding my head to his chest. I can hear his heart beating as I feel his lips graze my hair. And when I pull back and look at him, it's the first time I've seen no sign of doubt in his eyes.

Ever since the day he cornered me and demanded I belong to him, there's nearly always been a scrap of something holding him back. Whether it was the age difference, our work and careers, or three failed marriages and a life full of heartache. I realize suddenly that I have won Gibbs over, completely and utterly, and now I understand why I had to come tonight. My life is here now, with him. Always.

"I love you," I smile brightly, sighing with relief and letting the tears fall where they must. I raise a hand to his jaw and whisper: "I love you so much."

"I love you," he murmurs, still bewildered by my behavior. But he swipes at my happy tears and leans in to kiss me anyway, ducking his head from one side to the other, dropping short, teasing kisses over my mouth, as I seek to draw him deeper. When he refuses to give me what I want, I capture his face and pull him close, rising onto my toes and tugging at his lips with my own.

Gibbs' familiar arms wrap around me, welcoming me home and to my surprise, I realize as I kiss him that we didn't leave anything behind at the cabin. Nothing is lost. All that we were up there, we still are, and will be, wherever we go from here.

"C'mon," he mumbles indulgently, breaking the kiss and taking my overnight bag from my hand. I hook my fingers into his belt and follow him toward the bedroom, inspecting his ass as he climbs the stairs ahead of me. Suddenly, in his presence, I feel all better. Trotting around in front of him, I plant myself in his path and examine his face, standing a step up from him.

"I want you," I tell him bluntly.

"Excellent," he exhales matter-of-factly, gazing openly at my lips.

I level him with a pointed look, murmuring lowly: "You want me?"

He dips his chin confidently: "More every day."

I toss my head self-satisfactorily: "Good," I tell him, resting my elbows on his shoulders: "Keep it that way."

"Well--" he says, chucking my bag over his shoulder: "Now that that's settled--" He scoops me up swiftly, much to my delight, and carries me up the remaining stairs. I giggle and wrap my arms around his neck, determinedly nuzzling the sensitive spot below his ear. He groans, in both pain and pleasure, as he lugs me into the bedroom and sets me down heavily on the edge of the bed.

"Augh, Katie," he moans and collapses face down on the bed beside me: "You're killin' me."

I hum sympathetically and twist round to rub his lower back with one hand: "Want me to kiss it better?" I murmur teasingly. Much as he doesn't like to admit it, Gibbs

has a bad back, and it's endured far more exercise in the last two weeks than in recent years.

"It couldn't hurt," he mumbles into the bedspread as I lift up his t-shirt and soothe the area I know aches and creaks sometimes.

I rub in circles for a minute or two, just warming the skin and muscle before slinging one leg over his body and carefully straddling his butt. I dig my fingers and thumbs into the resistant flesh of his lower back, massaging slowly and firmly -- it takes all my strength just to make an impact on his strong muscle and hard bulk. I press the heels of my hands either side of his spine and work my way upwards, pushing his t-shirt out of the way as I go. Gibbs takes the hint and pulls the shirt over his head and off as my hands grasp and knead the muscle of his shoulders. I lean over him, planting soft kisses on the back on his neck and down over his spine as I descend again to the base, where I dig my thumbs in forcefully causing him to arch and groan in pleasurable pain.

"Any better?" I ask softly after a few more minutes working on his tight muscles. I roll off him and prop my elbow on the bed, my face in my hand.

He opens one eye to peer up at me and pats the leg I still have slung over his ass: "A little," he mumbles and I lean in to kiss the corner of his mouth.

He lifts himself onto his hands and I lean back as he crawls over me, insinuating himself between my thighs and collapsing again on top of me, his head to my breast. He sighs contentedly and closes his eyes as I rifle through his hair idly and kiss his head. It feels amazing just laying with his huge, warm weight on me, pressing me firmly into the mattress, his patient arousal resting semi-hard against my thigh. His breath and his smell and his body completely enveloping me with his ownership. I still want this man more than any man in the world, but we're not in such a rush to reach our inevitable and enjoyable consummation tonight. It's gratifying just to be able to take our time with each other, with being intimate.

We lie in silence like that for a long while, with just our deep breaths accompanying our separate thoughts. Then, Gibbs' hand begins to move temptingly over one of my breasts. I open my eyes and watch him watching the indolent movement of his own hand. I carry on with my seduction of his hair as he slowly unbuttons my blouse. His head still lies heavily between my breasts as he uncovers one side of me, stroking now with the same unhurried lightness the silk of my plain white bra. I see the pink of my nipple peek through the thin fabric as it peaks for him, bringing a slight, smug smile to his face.

He glances up, meeting my intent gaze, then leans in and takes the begging flesh between his lips. My warm breast tingles irresistibly in his mouth, sending slow waves of arousal down my body. He sucks wetly for a moment, then pulls away, settling back on my sternum, and allowing his hand to take over the divine torture of my left breast. He palms it gently and lazily, pursing his lips and blowing a thin stream of cold air over the wet crest.  
I gasp beneath him and writhe, goose-bumps rising on my sensitive skin. I bite my lip and watch him pull the cup of my bra down, over my breast, exposing me to both our eyes.

"I love your breasts," he murmurs, gazing unabashedly at me and delicately tracing the circumference of my soft mound with two fingers.

"I've noticed," I breathe a little shakily and he looks up, seeming to realize suddenly the effect his play might be having on me. He gives a predatory little smile and shifts a little to uncover the other half of me, sliding my top away and pulling the other side of my bra down so I'm completely bared to him.

"Beautiful," he whispers, leaning down to swipe at me with his tongue, long, abrasive licks which bathe me all over.

One coarse palm comes up to cup and rub the opposite breast, the thumb tweaking the wet nipple, and we both start moaning noisily with his ministrations. I tip back my head and close my eyes, arching and offering myself to him as a warm flush opens up in my chest and a flood of need overwhelms me. I sit up suddenly, capturing his mouth with a long kiss. I slip out of my blouse as Gibbs gets rid of the bra; then I guide him confidently, holding my hands over his as they cup me tenderly. I watch his face as he fondles me surely -- his warm hands feel so big, his touch so arousing. When I'm sure he's not going to move them, I shift my hands to his chest, roaming over the broad landscape of him, the muscle and the fur of him, scraping my thumbs over his nipples as I push him back to lie on the bed.

I begin to kiss down his body, over his neck and chest as he settles back and continues playing with my breasts as much as he can reach. I show much less restraint than he did, descending quickly, tasting every millimeter, touching every gorgeous inch of skin and hair and muscle. He hums and moans under my caresses, his hips shifting impatiently as I head downwards. I kiss his stomach and outline his bellybutton with my tongue, unbuttoning his pants quickly as an inquisitive hand slips up under my skirt. I lever up onto my knees for him and the hand instantly smoothes slowly up one thigh, around one cheek of my ass then the other, then back down the other thigh. He flicks my skirt up over my ass, curling his fingers around my panties and tugging down. I lift my knees so that he can pull them all the way off and then shudder when the same hand, warm and rough, glides over the naked roundness of my thighs and ass. He repeats the errant caress, his touch patient and adoring, as I pause briefly in my task of releasing him from his pants.

I'm surprised when he takes a hold of my hips and guides me carefully to straddle him, encouraging my knees to sit either side of his body and my lips to lower to his mouth. The position feels awkward, my body is so open and exposed, but the sensation of his breath on my leaking folds is incredible and I can feel the heat of his gaze as he stares at the hub of my body, both big hands still smoothing deftly over my rear. He holds me in suspense for an electrifying moment, his thumb tracing lightly the small lotus tattoo on my right ass cheek that is of such endless fascination to him.

I finally pull his dick out of his boxers just as I feel the first delicate touch of his tongue on my nether lips. I gasp and match it by licking around the tip of his swollen shaft. He hums and chuckles contentedly. I grin a little and envelop the head in my mouth, swirling my tongue in circles over him, as I feel him groan and start kissing my entire sex like it was my mouth. It feels amazing, he's licking and kissing every inch of me, inhaling my scent and drinking my wetness like he owns it, and what makes my head still spin is that this is Gibbs doing this to me, being with me in this way, making me feel all this. It still amazes me that the man I wanted so badly for such an eternity, the man I was so afraid to fall in love with, long after I knew I had already, the man that I still cannot get enough of, now owns me and I own him. We are together and we love each other and we can express that in every single way we've always longed to.

Merely the thought makes me clench with want. Just the knowledge that it's Gibbs' thumbs holding me open to him, his mouth sucking at my flesh, his moans vibrating into my body makes me hotter than I thought possible. My grumpy, old boss of two years whose every gesture I watched, whose hands I worshiped, whose mouth I lusted for, whose body I wondered about and whose love I always needed, is no longer out of my reach.

I grasp him gently at the base, sinking my mouth over his hardness with satisfaction. This position provides the best of both worlds and is the ultimate act of trust. We easily find a rhythm where, as I am slowly feeding him into my mouth, he begins fucking me softly with his tongue. His nimble feeler slides in and out of my slick entrance fluidly, circling my opening teasingly then plunging back inside with abandon. I feel the heat rise in my face and between my thighs from the unbelievable sensations he is drawing from my most sensitive area.

I moan eagerly around his stiff flesh and feel him expand perceptibly in my mouth. He tastes rich and hard and heady as I try to take in all of him, using my hand on what I can't manage. But after a few lengthy, intoxicating minutes of making love this way, he squeezes my ass to let me know this is not the way he wants to finish.  
I retreat, with one last, long suck that draws a deep, low groan from Gibbs as his head falls back on the bed. I tuck my legs under me and flop back on the mattress beside him, my head resting on his outstretched arm. We stare at the ceiling for awhile, panting quietly. My hand reaches out lazily of its own accord, dusting the backs of my fingers over his slightly sweaty chest.

When he links his fingers with mine, I bring his hand to my mouth, kissing his palm softly and taking his middle finger between my lips. I suck lightly and bite down on the tip as he turns to look at me, his eyes exhibiting both arousal and accusation.

"You'll be the death of me," he mumbles, rolling onto his side and capturing my mouth with his while his finger is still inside.

I giggle as he withdraws his hand and uses it to urge me onto my side, facing away from him. I kiss him, with my head stretched to one side as best I can, moving my tongue over his as I feel him press up behind me, his whole body hard and big and sheltering against the back of mine. Our legs tangle briefly as he draws my face back, my head still pillowed by his bicep and his hand on my brow. He kisses me soft and hard, enough to make me whimper and want him more than ever. His hand is back at my breast and pulling on my nipples, making me squirm and rub my legs together restlessly; then it slides down my body, unerringly knowing and confident, lifting my top leg up and back over his.

I arch back into him, wantingly, feeling his silky hardness nestled against my buttocks and shiver bodily as the tip of his tongue skates up the back of my neck and behind my ear. I twist in his secure hold, one hand still holding my head, the other keeping my hip pressed back against him, my legs opened to him so his curious fingers can delve occasionally into the wet heat of me. I never would've thought it before I became involved with him but Gibbs is a real seducer. He loves investigating my body, my mind, my desire. He loves seeing what I enjoy and respond to and how much, trying new things and trying to please me above all. Every time he makes love to me, he makes it better than the last. Every time is different, more intense, or more fun or more intimate.

He loves this part. It's a favorite pastime of his, keeping me right on the edge, making me want him so much that I wiggle and groan and tell him so. Not that he needs to do much to attract my desire; sometimes just a look will make me wet, his voice can make me come. And he knows it too. But I don't have the patience tonight, I don't have the willpower to survive the tease. I push my ass back at him impatiently and scrape my fingernails up his side then back into his hair.

"Please," I sigh longingly: "I want to feel you inside me…"

Perhaps he doesn't have the patience tonight either because I feel him grasp my hip with one hand as the blunt head of his erection pokes at my folds, pushing gently against my entrance. I sigh in satisfaction and lower my hand to my wet pussy, opening myself for him, assisting him in sinking gradually inside. My body has gotten used to his large size in the recent months but he still stretches me wide and the initial tightness feels almost like pain. I concentrate on being relaxed and breathing deeply as he moves forward gently, coated in my warm juices. I can't do anything in this position but lay there and let him take control, let him make love to me at his own pace. But he feels so good and I'm happy to accept everything he's got to give.

My eyes slip shut as he slowly guides our joining, my body encouraging him with approving sighs and excited undulations and my hand in his hair, pulling him close. He feels so unbelievably good that I could almost cry from the pleasure.

"Oh…baaaaaaby," he moans when he is finally all the way inside me, pressing deep into my belly. "Oh, yeah," he sighs, running one hand up and down my side as his head drops into my neck and his hips circle searchingly, angling for every bit of depth he can get.

He picks up the limp hand resting now on my damp curls and raises it to his lips. He swirls his tongue around my fingers then sucks two into the warm cavern of his mouth, tasting my essence from my own skin. I groan low in my throat at the soft feeling of his mouth sucking my digits, along with the sensation of his body pressed against me from behind and pushed up inside me, hard and full. One arm insinuates itself under me, grasping and kneading at my breast while the other moves down to cover my apex, his long middle finger circling my clit deliberately as he draws his hips back and begins to move; slow, shallow, sinuous thrusts that never let me feel empty. The triple stimulation is utterly bewitching and undoing, and my mouth falls open in overwhelming ecstasy.

"Ohhh, God, that's good," I whisper from somewhere far away: "Oh…God…. don't stop that…"

"Why would I want to stop?" he murmurs teasingly into my ear, his voice still retaining some hint of rationality which I do not have the brainpower to question. His chest rubs up and down my back as he moves, anointing me with his sweat.

"Katie, Katie, Katie…." he mumbles, his breath hot and harsh against the skin of my neck. The last of his rationality is fading, I believe. "…you feel good…" he groans lowly, sucking on my jaw and pinching my nipple: "So, so good, baby…"

I love that word from his mouth and I whimper openly in response. My whole body is tightening rapidly in anticipation -- it's not going to take much for me tonight. He hears my desperation and reacts immediately, pulling all the way out and then pushing in again in a smooth, strong rush that fries my synapses. I cry out, feeling my walls constrict about him, pulsating with heat, and plump with indescribable stimulation. I'm so, so close already. He holds me tight, pushing me higher, thrumming me faster, making me fall further apart with every gratifying plunge.

My climax blooms slowly, building incrementally, unfolding exquisitely, radiating from deep within, so that I can savor each incredible phase. My throat is open on a wordless cry but all I can manage is a weak and repetitive moan as my head falls back against Gibbs' shoulder. He is whispering in my ear and moving inside me so perfectly. His mouth moves down to my shoulder and I feel his teeth taste my skin just as I begin to orgasm. I cry out again, loud and amazed, convulsing in slow-moving waves to start with and then with greater urgency as my vagina clamps down on him and squeezes powerfully. Gibbs rides it out with me, his rapt eyes raking over my every pore and his hips keeping up their relentless pumping, as I quake uncontrollably in his arms for a long, lingering moment, then slump weakly in release. He continues the soft circling of my clit, drawing every last aching spasm from my spent body until I'm done, then he moves his hand to cup my belly and gently pulls out.

I feel powerless with lassitude, unable to manage the smallest action, but gulp irregularly and attempt to catch my breath. My arms and legs feel heavy, my chest rises and falls deeply and my body thrums intensely with aftereffects. And though my mind is officially blown, and I'm cognizant enough to realize that Gibbs did not follow me into the abyss. He could've, I know he's that close that he could come any minute. He could've pushed through my orgasm to find his own, rolled me onto my stomach and taken me again. But he didn't; not that I would've minded particularly.

But I love that he watches over me when I reach my bliss, I appreciate that he lets me feel it fully and feels it with me. I like that he waits until I'm ready to experience his release with him, before moving on. He loves sex, and he doesn't like to rush through the best part. He relishes my orgasm almost as much as his own.  
Finally, I turn my head to look at him, and he shifts so that I can fall onto my back. I draw his face down and kiss him lazily, stroking his cheek with a faint touch. An open wound of immense, pure love opens up in my chest as I kiss him. I want him to feel what I am feeling. I want to show him, I want him to know. I want him to have everything.

"I love you," I whisper, between kisses, my eyes fluttering hazily: "I love you, I love you…"

My hand drifts down over his chest, caressing randomly, tenderly, stroking his hip and curling around his still tumescent cock. He pulls back from my kiss, face flushed and eyes closing over in lust as I stroke him steadily. I watch his face as he pants roughly and tries to contain himself, his body strung tight with tension and need. And I feel a tremendous urge to give him everything he wants, whatever he desires. So when he opens his eyes again, blue glinting down at me with intense feeling, I'm about to voice that thought -- ask him how he wants me now. But before I can open my mouth, he murmurs:

"Just like this," and leans over me to kiss me with almost savage enthusiasm.

I don't need to say anything, ask anything, as he lifts me up higher on the bed, my head on the pillow then quickly divests me of my unnecessary skirt. He stands briefly to get rid of his pants and boxers, his erection bobbing heavily as he moves with speedy, vigorous movements. Gibbs knows he can have anything he wants of me, as I lay back and watch him, still in a state of semi-arousal and semi-satisfaction. But as much as the man is a seducer he is also a traditionalist, and, to him, there is nothing better than being on top, inside my body, looking into my face, kissing my mouth and making love to me as hard and as long and as deeply as he wants to.

He plants his hands on the pillow either side of my face and leans over, crawling up onto the bed, completely naked, and lowering himself between my thighs. I reach out to welcome him and feel an unexpected contraction as his penis brushes my hip. I know he sees the fresh flare of desire in my eyes as he holds my enthralled gaze. His eyes are blue and blazing, outlined by rich, fine lines and sheltered by dark brows. He watches my face avidly as he runs his hands up my arms, stretching them above my head and linking his fingers with mine. He leans in and his mouth, hot and urgent, takes control of mine, kissing me this way and that, delving and tugging and suckling as his fists cover mine and press them into the pillow. I open to him in every way I can, lifting my legs to bracket his hips, my feet planted on the bedspread, accepting everything he is, kissing him back and drinking his moans like they belong to me.

"Kate…" he murmurs roughly, planting erratic kisses over my face and shoulders: "I love you…"

God, I love this, I cannot get enough of this and my own excitement is already rising up to claim me again. There's a faint throb opening up between my legs and a fresh kick of moisture soaking my thighs. Gibbs' right hand leaves mine, moving down between us to take himself in hand and guide him back to my opening. There's very little seduction now, and very little restraint left in him. And that's fine, he's waited so long and I'm so wet and ready that he sinks in easily, filling me fully in one, strong thrust. His hand returns to mine, clasping fiercely, keeping me pinned where I am and always want to be. His grip is almost painful as his eyes close tightly in pleasure. I reach up with my lips to kiss his face wherever I can as he rocks against me enthusiastically and moans my favorite word.

"Baaaaaby…."

His strokes are smooth but irregular, as he begins to thrust, this time hard and fast, seeking out his own climax, which nips insistently at his heels. I watch his face, a mask of blissful torment, and lift my hips eagerly to meet his movements. His hot breath bathes my face and his bristly chest hair scrapes over my soft nipples making them stiffen once more, as his hips thud solidly against my own over and over and over and over and blissfully over again. Without warning, he rises up and releases my hands from his grip, reaching down to rearrange me the way he now wants me. He barely pauses in his thrusts as he hooks his arms under my legs and slings them over his shoulders, so that he is stroking down into my liquid core, bumping my sensitive clit with each inescapable impact.

I cry out in surprise and Gibbs raises his gaze from where he is admiring our joining, to look down at my face. His hair is sweaty and falling over his forehead, his face red with exertion as he grins wickedly, pushing me harder and faster. His body, brown and brawny, is to me, the finest poetry in motion ever created and I cannot tear my captivated eyes from the absolute beauty of his bulky arms holding us both in position, and his hips smoothly urging us both towards fulfillment, his shoulders straining and bulging and his face, alive and open with lust and love.

"Come for me, again, Kate," he urges in a strangled voice, as I marvel at the man's stamina. He pins my eyes as I writhe beneath him and chew at my lip: "I want you to come for me again."

I'm whimpering and loosing my mind all over again, my head tossing fitfully on the pillow. My hands stretch out to brace myself against the onslaught of pleasure; one screwed up in the bedspread, the other holding onto his shoulder as he moves above me. He's too good, he's just too, too good and if he can just last one more minute I'll give him exactly what he's asking for.

"Come on, baby --" he grunts between thrusts: "Lemme feel it -- I wanna – I gotta feel it…."

"No one's ever…" I pant huskily, staring into his eyes and trying with the last of my reason to string a meaningful sentence together. "Uh!" I sob, holding onto him as tight as I can, my fingers digging into the skin of his back. "Jethro," I breathe, giving him his name and telling him: "I love how you make love to me…."

He stoops swiftly, sealing his mouth over my open, breathless lips and sucking my tongue into his mouth. His hips snap powerfully once, twice and once more as he plows into my tight passage and finally comes. He bellows elatedly and throws back his head, holding himself deeply imbedded inside me as he shudders forcibly and releases his seed in a series of surges.

As he finishes, he gives a few final, shaky thrusts and it's the last that does it for me, hammering my assaulted clit and bringing me off abruptly in sharp, strong pulses. He moans victoriously, as I sob and grind myself against him, extracting as much pleasure as I can. I drink in the sight of him, glowing with completion, and feel my walls milking his spent penis as he rocks against me languidly savoring the very last remnants of our love-making. Then I drop my head back and close my eyes.

He allows my legs to lower back to the bed, his head drops back at my breast, and my hands drift back to his hair. He is motionless and softening inside me as our breaths slow steadily and our sweat cools. His chest sticks to mine with our combined perspiration and when he links our fingers again, both our palms are damp too. I wonder vaguely whether I have the energy for a shower. After a few measureless minutes, Gibbs shifts up and kisses me gently.

"That was unbelievable…" he rumbles and pulls out of me carefully, collapsing at my side with exhaustion.

I smile softly, glancing across at his peaceful expression; he's out for the count. When I've caught my breath, I force myself to leave the bed and walk on trembly legs into the bathroom, where I do a minimal job of cleaning myself up, swiping between my breasts with a cool washcloth, over the back of my neck and down between my legs. I borrow Gibbs' toothbrush, too lazy to dig out my own from my bag, then I turn out the lights.

He's snoring softly when I wander back to the bed naked, picking up our discarded clothes as I go. I throw a light blanket over his body and crawl in beside him, resting my head on his shoulder. I make sure to set our alarm, noting that it is way after midnight and our wonderful vacation is now officially over. We are due back at work in less than eight hours. I actually feel alright about it, I muse dimly. I'm sure that everything will be okay. My eyes slip shut as Gibbs finds my neck and my waist in his sleep, burrowing close in the still, quiet dark.  
  
_END._


End file.
